


Falling Towards Something (It Might Just Be You)

by thewaywedo33



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Actual Plotline?, And Hearts Are Funny Things, Angst and some sexy times and love, But then it's gone gone gone, F/F, Fleur is kind of a villian, Hermione and Harry Friendship because always, Small bit of Hermione/Ron in the beginning, What's That?, but not really, war changes people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 04:36:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7299847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewaywedo33/pseuds/thewaywedo33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the Battle of Hogwarts Hermione discovers Fleur is not who she thinks she is.  As they are drawn together again and again, Hermione might just discover she herself is no longer the same person either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Fleurmione is such a beautiful pairing to me. They don't get enough love and fic, in my humble opinion.

  
"The only way to make sense of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance."

*****

The grief unfolding around Fred's body has a painful ache settling into Hermione's chest.

She can't stand to spend another minute in the Great Hall watching it, so she silently backs away, heading across the entrance way now mostly reduced to rubble.

Sliding to the floor in a shadowy corner where she won't be disturbed, she places her wand beside her, rubbing at her face wearily.

Harry is in Dumbledore's office seeking answers in some of Snape's memories. Hermione really hopes he finds some, because she doesn't know how much more death and fighting she can take.

How much more any of them can take.

With her face still buried in her hands, she doesn't even notice someone approaching, nor does she hear them pick up her wand.

A weird sense settles in the pit of her stomach, causing her to jerk her head up, locking eyes with vivid blue ones.

“Fleur,” she breathes out, “you startled me.”

Fleur makes a humming noise, assessing Hermione. The way she tilts her head and holds Hermione with a piercing gaze is disconcerting.

When Hermione's eyes drift down to note her wand held in Fleur's grasp her eyebrows lower down in confusion.

“Fleur, can I have my wand back please?” She asks, holding out her hand as she slowly rises to her feet. Something feels very off, but she isn't sure why yet.

“Where's Harry?” Fleur asks, ignoring the request.

“He's in Dumbledore's office, hopefully finding out more about how to defeat Voldemort.”

Hermione notes the smile that comes to Fleur's face. Unlike her normal serene or cocky curl of lips, this one feels dangerous.

Cold.

“Can I please have my wand?” Hermione repeats the question again, slowly.

Fleur looks down at the instrument in her hand, rolling it between her fingers for a moment, as if contemplating the request. Finally she slides it into her back pocket. “No, I think not. I doubt you will be needing it again.”

Fleur's accent has become more pronounced. More like it was in Hermione's fourth year, back when she couldn't stand her. The change is setting off alarm bells in Hermione's head.

“Fleur, can you please tell me what is going on?” Hermione's voice wavers with a hint of nervousness.

At the sound of the waver, Hermione swears Fleur's eyes flicker with concern, just for a moment, before being replaced with a steely reserve.

She saunters forward slowly raising her own wand to chest level, and Hermione takes a short step back, feeling her back come up against the wall. She enters into Hermione's personal space, a dangerous glint in her eyes.

“You have done well Hermione. Harry never would have made it this far without you. He and that idiot friend of his would both be dead several times over if it were not for you. But now you are all no longer useful.”

Hermione swallows involuntarily, wondering what on earth has gotten into Fleur. The Imperious curse perhaps?

“Fleur what is wrong with you? Are you under some sort of spell?”

Fleur chuckles, but it holds not even a hint of warmth. “Oh Hermione, always so trusting, so naïve. No, I am not under a spell, I am simply following orders.”

Hermione's mind leaps to the most obvious conclusion. “You're a Death Eater?” she asks, accusation bitter in her throat.

Fleur snorts, rolling her eyes before giving a patronizing smile. “Hardly. Voldemort is weak, controlled by his boyhood insecurities, and obsessed with pure blood. He is a useful distraction, a pawn if you will, but now his time for usefulness is coming to an end as well. Who I work for, well, we have very different goals.”

Hermione knows she should be feeling fear right about now, she really should, but instead she feels her temper rising. Her hands ball into tight fists.

“I can't believe I trusted you,” she spits out. “You've been fooling us this whole time? Why join the Order? Why help us at Shell Cottage?”

She leaves the question she wants most answered unasked.

Why display such care and tenderness after her torture at the hands of Bellatrix? There's a deep, unsettling feeling of betrayal tugging at Hermione's gut, but she buries it.

Fleur tilts her head slowly, taking in Hermione's demeanor. “So fiery. You really are a little lion, aren't you?”

There's something lurking in the depths of her eyes again, something Hermione is trying to place, but Fleur blinks it away before she gets there.

“I need Harry to defeat Voldemort, Harry needed you to make it this far. You both far exceeded expectations. Pity you aren't needed for more.” The last part is said quietly, almost as if Fleur is speaking to herself.

She finds herself narrowing her eyes in contempt and responding in a petulant tone “I assume you're here to kill me then. I won't ever give you the satisfaction of begging for my life, so you might as well get on with it.” She crosses her arms over her chest defiantly. Her pride seems to be overriding any sense of self preservation.

Fleur stares her down for an uncomfortable minute before finally giving a curt nod, raising her wand up a fraction more.

There's a slight tremor in her hand that lasts just for a second. It's a movement Hermione would have missed had she not been staring at the wand so intently.

She looks back at Fleur's face, and something flashes there that confuses Hermione; something soft and conflicted, almost regretful.

“Yes, those are my orders...” Fleur trails off, her eyes going distant for a moment, before coming back into sharp focus on Hermione's face. “But I don't think I will. Not today.” She slowly lowers her arm, eyes hardening in decision.

Hermione wonders if this is some sort of perverse game. “Why?” she bites out harshly.

Fleur leans in slowly, her lips coming to a stop mere centimeters from the shell of Hermione's ear.

“I guess we'll both find out, eventually,” she whispers, her breath hitting Hermione's ear and causing a shiver. She pulls away, giving a wink and curling up one corner of her mouth into a smirk.

“If you say anything about this to anyone, anyone at all, I will have to kill them.” She backs away. “Remember that. I'll be seeing you.”

Fleur turns on her heel and disappears out onto the grounds, as Hermione slowly sinks back to the floor again.

Her hands start to shake. She's still trying to get them under control when Luna finds her a long while later.

*****

Dinner at the Weasleys is a quiet affair again, with polite hushed conversation about anything other than death and war and destruction.

Almost three weeks has passed, and the physical signs have all faded, but the emotional ones still hang in the air. They're almost palpable enough to reach out and touch, yet too fleeting to pin down.

Ron asks Hermione to pass the potatoes, his voice barely above a whisper. He gives her a small smile when she does, dropping his hand on to her knee under the table and giving a light squeeze before turning to engage his father in discussion.

Hermione can only stare at where his arm disappears under the table, willing herself to try to take warmth and comfort in his contact, but she's met with a peculiar sort of numbness.

They're slowly trying to make a go of things, and while Hermione tells herself repeatedly this is what she's wanted for so long, the thought never quite seems to sink below the surface.

Hermione raises her gaze and makes eye contact with Harry. Somehow she thinks he can tell what's passing through her mind, but instead of judgement on his face she sees gentle understanding.

They had a conversation the previous night about moving in together at Grimauld Place, at least for the summer, while they sort out where to go with their lives.

They promised to think on it for a few nights and discuss it again, but Hermione already knows her decision. She has an entire list of things she needs to work out in her mind, and she feels like she needs space to do it.

After evening tea everyone calls it a night. When they stop on the middle landing, Ron gives Hermione a kiss on the cheek that still fails to evoke any feelings within her, before she continues on to the top floor where she and Harry have been staying.

Harry gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze at her door, calling out a soft good night. Hermione slips into her bedroom, shutting the door and letting out a soft sigh.

“Something troubling you Hermione?”

Hermione whirls around, a startled gasp leaving her lips.

The room is dark, but the moonlight filtering in through the window allows her to make out Fleur sitting casually in the chair at the corner of the room, wand in hand.

“Fleur.” Hermione speaks her name quietly, although she's not entirely sure why. The logical thing for her to do right now is raise a ruckus and alert everyone to Fleur's presence.

Instead she finds herself crossing her arms and fixing her with a defiant glare. “Change your mind about finishing me off then?”

Fleur chuckles, flicking her wand to light the fireplace, illuminating her face in a soft glow. “No, I have not changed my mind, I am not here for that. I persuaded the people I work for that you did not need to die.” She shrugs as if that is a casual admission.

Hermione takes a moment to let that sink in, running her eyes over Fleur's face, not entirely sure what it is she's looking for. Their eyes meet, and she can tell Fleur is looking for something right back.

“How generous. Am I to assume this is a social visit then?”

Fleur doesn't respond right away, and Hermione feels uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze. Finally Fleur's eyes flick to the door before answering. “I am glad you actually listened and stayed silent about our little encounter.”

“How do you know I have?”

Fleur's eyes cut back, a humorous light shining in them. “I just know.”

Her tone is mocking, and Hermione finds her brow lowering in annoyance.

“Well there's the fact that you threatened their lives if I did. And on top of that, they have enough on their minds right now, I'm not going to burden them with something else unless it's necessary.”

She doesn't mention the hard lesson she learned in her years at Hogwarts; that lacking concrete proof, people have the tendency to refuse to believe something that brings more pain and grief.

“What I'm curious about is why none of them have even mentioned your name.”

Fleur shrugs slowly, her eyes locked on Hermione's still. “It appears you are not the only one good with memory alteration spells.”

Hermione can feel her chest constrict painfully.

Her parents.

Her panic must show on her face because Fleur shakes her head softly at her “Yes I know about your parents, but they are not in any danger. Relax.” She adds when Hermione's posture remains rigid, but it has no effect.

Fleur rolls her eyes before continuing on a different tract in an attempt to put Hermione at ease. “I simply erased my time here after the tri-wizard tournament from their memories. As far as they know, I returned to France at the end of that year and never returned.”

“That explains why no one has said anything,” Hermione mutters to herself, her eyes focusing on the flames of the fire as she tries to work out the logistics of making a memory charm so time specific and for such a large group of people. It would take an extreme level of skill. Finally her eyes cut back to Fleur.  
  
“I'm more interested in you explaining who it is you work for, and what it is you're after. This isn't like you Fleur. Tell me what's going on and I can help you get out of it. You made the choice not to kill me. Let me help you.” Hermione is not entirely sure why she offers help, and it surprises her to realize just how much she means it.

The second the words are out of her mouth it's clear it the wrong thing to say, judging by the stony look that comes over Fleur's face.

She' moves up and out of the chair in one seamless motion before Hermione can even blink, and she's shaking her head.

“Always trying to save the day,” there's a hint of disappointment and sadness in her tone, “I hate to break it to you Hermione, but just because I did not kill you does not mean I haven't killed before. Don't make the mistake of thinking I am not capable of it.”

Hermione feels a chill run down her spine.

She doesn't want to believe Fleur's words, but she has a nagging suspicion Fleur speaks the truth.

It's Fleur's turn to get lost in the flames of the fire, and Hermione can see the struggle for what to say next playing out across her beautiful features.

After several uncomfortable moments of silence she looks at Hermione out of the corner of her eye. “Life is not black and white Hermione, the sooner you learn that the better off you will be.”

Hermione fights off the strange urge to laugh bitterly. “Why are you here Fleur?”

Fleur visibly deflates, eyes bouncing back and forth between Hermione's. She jerks her head at the nightstand next to the bed. “I came to return something.”

Hermione can just make out the long thin object in the shadowy corner. “My wand,” she breathes out in disbelief. Why would Fleur give it back?

“Try not to lose it again.” Fleur gives a wry smile before walking towards the open window, swinging one leg through, pausing when Hermione calls out her name in an attempt to stall her from leaving.

The mischievous sparkle is back in Fleur's eyes. “See you soon Hermione.”

She ducks out the window without another word, disappearing into the darkness. Hermione strides over quickly, ducking her head out to see if Fleur is still visible, but there's no sign of her anywhere. She pulls her head back in with a scowl.

For the second time in as many meetings Fleur Delacour has left her thoroughly confused. She should be afraid, and yet right now all she can feel is burning curiosity.

It takes her a long time to fall asleep that night, thoughts about the encounter mixing with memories and nightmares whispering from the depths of where she's hidden them.

*****

Three weeks later Fleur makes good on her promise.

Hermione and Harry are settled into Grimmauld place and adjusting well to life as roommates.

She's still trying to make progress in her relationship with Ron. She tells herself they both owe it the best shot they can give after so many years with the possibility hanging over their heads.

She's starting to suspect her best shot isn't worth all that much these days. There's a pervasive numbness she would love to rid herself of, but she's not sure where to start.

She and Harry kill off a bottle of wine that night, something that's become a bit of a new habit since Voldemort's defeat.

They exchange weary good nights as they head off to their rooms on different floors.

Just before Hermione enters her room she can hear Harry yawn loudly, and it brings a small smile to her face.

The smile fades when she enters her room to see Fleur standing over her desk looking down at something in concentration.

The fire in the room is going. Fleur must have started it upon her arrival.

She really should stop starting other people's fires without their permission, Hermione thinks with a scowl, before realizing how insane she sounds, even in her own mind.

When Hermione shuts the door with a soft click Fleur whirls around, and Hermione can't do anything for a moment besides take in how utterly breathtaking Fleur looks tonight.

She has on a blue dress that compliments her eyes, her make up is meticulously applied, and her hair is in perfect gentle waves. Hermione is curious about where she was previously that would require such a look.

“You are getting close, but some of your numbers are off.”

The words snap Hermione out of her staring and she furrows her brow quizzically.

One of the corners of Fleur's mouth quirks up in a faint smile. “The memory spell, you are almost there, but some of the runes and arithmancy you have here are not right for what you want to do.”

It occurs to Hermione through her alcohol induced fuzziness that she should be more alarmed that Fleur Delacour has twice now had no problem finding her location and entering her bedroom, but her curiosity overrides commonsense.

She approaches the desk to look at the notebook she's been scribbling in for days now trying to figure out the version of the memory spell Fleur used.

She squints at the page, trying to find an obvious part of the spell that needs changing. She can feel Fleur's eyes watching her, and the scrutiny is making it hard for her to concentrate. Fleur's finger slides across the page, and Hermione's eyes follow it.

“This part here is tricky,” she says softly, “what you have so far is good, but when you get to this part you revert to some...outdated spell work.” She pauses in a way that makes it clear there's some sort of insult in the sentence. “There are better ways to get the outcome you are looking for.”

Hermione looks up sharply at Fleur. “Outdated?” She can feel her inner pride rearing up, and it's strange and grating in juxtaposition to the numbness she feels most of the time these days.

Fleur's eyes start to sparkle with mirth, a ghost of a smile crossing her lips, causing Hermione's gaze to dip down for a moment before flitting back up when Fleur speaks again.

“Yes, outdated. I am sure it is how you were taught to do such things at that school, but there are better ways.”

Hermione's pride goes from rearing up to full blown take over mode, and she's honestly taken aback at the strength of the feeling.

“Better ways? Are you suggesting Hogwarts education is outdated?”

“In some ways, yes.”

“And let me guess, your snooty french school taught it better?” Hermione crosses her arms over her chest, settling into what she recognizes as her debate stance.

Fleur is looking more amused by the moment. “I would like to think so, yes.” She quirks an eyebrow, hands going to her hips as if challenging Hermione to call her a liar, tapping a single high heeled toe to punctuate the point.

Their stare off lasts a minute, Fleur's small smile never fading.

Hermione slaps the notebook back down on the desk, running her finger along the part Fleur pointed out. “If you change this part, the spell would become extremely unstable, I don't see how it's possible.”

Fleur rolls her eyes. “It does not become unstable if you tweak the next part to compensate.” She's tracing over the handwriting with her fingers and Hermione follows them intently. “Think beyond your school books Hermione. I know it is hard for you to do, but there is a whole other world of possibilities.”

A small squeak of indignation comes out of Hermione's mouth. Her cheeks are burning and she feels the fire of a good debate rising in her chest. “Is the 'whole other world of possibilities' called 'Beauxbatons way of teaching things'?” Hermione uses air quotes to aid in her mocking tone.

Fleur just laughs, her mouth curving into an impish smile.

“Did you even go to that school anyway? How do I know that's not a lie? Just like everything else out about you apparently.” she finishes, practically as a murmur to herself.

The smile on Fleur's face drops instantly, and Hermione feels chilled in its absence. She finds herself wishing she hadn't uttered the words.

Fleur takes a small step forward, reaching a hand up and gently taking ahold of Hermione's chin, and Hermione feels more than a little alarmed at the heat she feels where Fleur's fingers touch. Fleur looks her in the eye for a long moment before speaking.

“It is true, I kept my true intentions hidden, but I never lied to you.”

Fleur's eyes seem honest and open, but given recent revelations, Hermione doesn't think she can afford to believe her. She doesn't really understand why it's important to Fleur for her to believe it anyway.

“Who are you?” Hermione asks, her voice is pleading, and it scares her just how much she wants to know the answer.

Fleur steps away, a sad smile coming to her lips. It's a look Hermione is becoming used to rather quickly. She doesn't like it.

“Who are any of us Hermione? Too complicated a question to answer with mere words.” She shrugs as she falls silent again, looking back down at the notebook on the desk before flitting her eyes back to Hermione, her face back to its normal look of perfect composure.

“Keep working at the spell, I know you will get it eventually.”

Before Hermione can think of a proper response Fleur has slipped out of the room.

It takes her a moment to realize Fleur's just entered the rest of the house and she should be alarmed for Harry, but when she opens the door no one is on the staircase.

She quietly slinks down to Harry's room, opening the door a crack when she hears the telltale noise of his snores. She breaths a sigh of relief to find his room empty, although she can't quite get herself to believe Fleur would harm Harry anyway.

Hermione climbs the steps back to her room with a heavy feeling in her chest and a confused mind.

Twice now Fleur has caught her completely off guard, and she feels no closer to figuring out the truth of Fleur's actions. If anything, the picture seems fuzzier.

She crawls into bed resolved to be more prepared the next time she comes calling. Because the one thing she is absolutely certain of, it's that her encounters with Fleur are not finished.

The last quiet whisper from within herself before she drifts off to sleep admits she doesn't want them to be.

*****

Hermione leaves the bookstore with far more books than she planned on. While perusing the stacks for books that would help her with the memory spell, she'd thought about another topic of research she was interested in.

She's not even sure why, but the fire for knowledge was lit, and she didn’t have the energy to question it.

The book store owner gave her a funny look when he read the titles of some of her purchases, but she just kept an innocent expression on her face and paid as quickly as possible.

She heads straight home to work on the new research. And she's aware there are other things she could be doing on a beautiful summer afternoon, but all she wants to do is bury herself in books and forget about everything and everyone for awhile.

Harry is at the burrow spending time with Ginny for the night, and Hermione relishes the idea of not being interrupted.  
  
Those thoughts fly out the window when she gets home and discovers Pigwidgeon excitedly flying around the front parlor with a letter from Ron.

Hermione sighs heavily as she opens it.

Over the last couple weeks she's grown increasingly alarmed at her lack of interest in most things, including Ron.

She's tried desperately to feel something when she's with him, anything at all, but even their normal every day conversations feel hollow and flat. She can tell Ron notices her lack of attention and enthusiasm, and it makes her feel worse.

A couple nights prior, she convinced herself that something big was needed to shake herself out of this deep despair, and Ron seemed to feel the same way, practically begging for physical intimacy.

She relented, and tried desperately to feel anything at all through the entire awkward encounter, but truth be told, she felt nothing.

Ron's kisses and awkward touches failed to elicit any kind of real physical reaction in her, and she lay awake afterwards listening to his soft snores wondering if she was forever broken.

She couldn't even bring herself to cry about it.

She asked for a couple days to clear her head the morning after, but here Ron was, asking if he could see her tonight.

She can't really blame him though. She's starting to suspect he's desperate for them to work as a distraction from dealing with the war and it's aftermath. She thinks she's been making the same mistake.

Even so, she can't bare the thought of interacting with anyone today, and so her reply to him is polite but in the negative.

Hermione retires to her bedroom for the next several hours, getting lost in her books, furiously jotting down notes, erasing and writing in parts of the memory spell, just to erase certain parts again.

When she finally thinks she might have it right she takes a look at the time and is surprised to realize just how late it is.

She descends the stairs with a plan to make tea and some sort of dinner, but stops in her tracks and performs a double take when passing by the front parlor.

“What exactly do you think you're doing Fleur?” She asks, confused to find her sitting in an armchair reading a book in front of a flickering fire.

The image is inviting, and Hermione feels uncontrollably drawn into the room.

Fleur holds up a finger as she finishes reading a sentence, and Hermione scowls at her rudeness. Honestly, one would think Hermione was the one interrupting Fleur's evening at home.

Hermione wonders how she, yet again, got into the house without detection before she remembers Fleur belonged to the Order.

Come to think of it, Fleur wouldn't have any kind of problems getting in and out of Grimmauld Place or the Burrow, she's thoroughly familiar with both.

Finally Fleur finishes her section and closes the book with a gentle snap. She smiles at Hermione a bit more warmly than Hermione would expect. “What has you holed up in your room for so long, hmmm?”

Hermione wonders how long Fleur has been sitting here, but instead of questioning her, the truth falls from her mouth.

“I was working on the memory spell. I think I've finally gotten it.” She supplies it so easily, and it's starting to occur to Hermione that her conversations with Fleur never really feel difficult.

Perhaps she'll think on that more later.

Perhaps not.

When Fleur just raises her eyebrows Hermione knows she's asking to see the final result.

She waves her wand to summon the notebook left open on her bed and crosses the room to hand it over.

When she approaches, a strange look crosses Fleur's features.

Her eyes narrow, roaming over Hermione's face far more intently than necessary in normal interactions, while the fingers of one hand dig into the arm of the chair. Her nostrils flare a bit, before she finally reaches out to take the notebook.

Her eyes drop down to the page, but they still haven't lost the look they took on the moment Hermione got close. She looks agitated, and Hermione has no idea why.

While Fleur's eyes roam the page Hermione studies her carefully.

She's in far more casual clothing than the last time she showed up, jeans and boots and a t-shirt, hair in a perfect ponytail.

During her study Hermione becomes aware of an energy about Fleur. She can faintly sense something heady and dangerous in the air, and it takes her a moment to place it.

Dark magic.

Fleur must have used it recently. Its vestiges are clinging to her, a stark reminder to Hermione that Fleur is not some friend who just stopped by for a house visit; that she is in fact, a potential threat.

The problem is, she very much does not feel like a threat to Hermione.

“You used dark magic.” The words are out of her mouth before she can think better of it, and Fleur freezes, her eyes staring blankly at the page for what feels like an eternity before slowly raising them up to meet Hermione's. There's an intensity in her eyes that pins Hermione to the spot.

“Does that scare you?” She whispers.

The answer should be simple and given without hesitation. Yet Hermione remains silent, feeling the words hang heavily in the air between them. Her mouth feels dry, and she swallows slowly while wiping her palms against her jeans, before the answer tumbles from her lip.

“It should.”

Fleur looks back down, breathing in slowly through her nose, only to furrow her brow and look sharply back at Hermione before standing and handing the notebook back.

“You have done well, but I never expected any differently.” She backs away towards the fireplace, looking agitated again. Her eyes travel down Hermione's body and back up as if it's somehow offended her.

“Is something wrong Fleur?” Hermione can not for the life of her figure out why Fleur is looking at her like this.  
  
“His scent is all over you, you know. It is not particularly...pleasant.”

“What?” Hermione asks, thoroughly confused.

Fleur scowls, waving a hand dismissively. “Ron, I can smell him all over you.”

Something tickles alarmingly at the back of Hermione's brain, but she can't quite draw it out.

“I haven't seen him in a few days.” Hermione assumed the words would calm Fleur, but instead they seem to only bother her more.

“I see.” Her face becomes impassive and cold again.

She pulls a pouch out of her back packet, pouring out what Hermione recognizes as Floo Powder into the palm of her hand. She tosses it into the fire, avoiding Hermione's gaze. “I should be going. Perhaps we will meet again soon.”

Hermione hates the doubt Fleur's tone gives her of seeing each other again.

“I didn't feel anything.” The confession slips out, and she can feel the heat of embarrassment on her cheeks. For whatever reason, it's important to her that Fleur understands.

Fleur slowly turns her head to look at her curiously.

“I just mean, I thought it would be a good thing-maybe help with some stuff-but...I just didn't really feel anything.” The words come out quickly, nervously.

Hermione slides her hands into her back pockets, eyes bouncing from the fire place to Fleur repeatedly. The truth has been weighing heavily on her shoulders for the last couple days, and saying it out loud feels big. Perhaps bigger than it should.

Fleur's posture softens, and so does her features by a small fraction. “I am sorry to hear that.”

She doesn't mean it, Hermione knows with every fiber of her being she doesn't, and yet Hermione can't help but appreciate the effort.

Fleur never breaks eye contact as she steps into the flames of the fire, clearly enunciating 'Diagon Alley' before disappearing out of view.

Hermione wraps her arms around herself, staring into the flames for quite awhile before her stomach lets out a loud growl, reminding her of how long it's been since she last ate.

She makes a sandwich and some tea and takes it back to the front parlor, taking a seat in the same chair Fleur sat in. She traces her fingers ideally along the fabric of the chair while thoughts flit around her head, none of them concrete enough to nail down.

She's still in the same position an hour later when she hears a ruckus at the front door. She shoots up from the chair, drawing her wand as she goes, but it's just Harry, stumbling around the corner, very clearly intoxicated.

“Harry,” she exhales, “you frightened me.”

“Did I?” He's looking from her to the fire and back again, swaying a bit on the spot. “It's a nice night for a fire, ya know?”

It's obvious there's something wrong.

She ushers him into a chair demanding to know why he's so intoxicated, actually alarming herself in the process by how much she sounds like her admonishing former self. She doesn't feel much like that girl anymore.

She should be more shocked than she is when Harry reveals he's broken things off with Ginny.

She listens as he tries to verbalize his inability to understand any of his feelings since the war ended, how nothing seems the same, and yet he doesn't know when they changed, or how.

There's a quiet gnawing in the pit of her stomach the whole time.

“I'm going to enter into Auror training.” He hiccups, “I feel so lost not doing...” he trails off, waving his hands around trying to find the words, “stuff. Do you know what I mean?”

He's peering at her intently, looking for agreement, and there's a feeling of anxiety rising within her at the thought of still fighting a war, even if it's on a different front. It's the last thing she wants.

“I think I'm going to go back to Hogwart's, complete my final year.”

Harry's face looks as surprised as she feels inside.

She hadn't really thought about any of this until just now, but working on the memory charm reminded her that, at the very least, she still has a thirst for knowledge.

Hermione nods her head firmly, committing to the idea of finishing her education. Maybe she'll find herself again amongst the familiar halls.

“Huh,” Harry blinks up at her, 'That's so very...Hermione of you.”

Hermione can't help but laugh. She leans down to hug Harry, scruffing up his hair in the process. “Oh Harry,” she breaths out softly, “we're going to be ok, right?”

“You and me 'Moine? Right as rain.” His eyebrows furrow again. “Well, not rain I guess, because that can be depressing, why do people even say that? But yeah, we'll be all right.”

Hermione laughs again, wanting desperately to believe him.

*****

Hermione knows she is dreaming. There's a subtle difference to everything in the scene, enough to make it obvious it isn't real life, but that's not what truly gives away her dream state.

She knows it's a dream because of the overwhelming amount of emotions she feels swirling within her. She hasn't felt such strong emotions in long enough that it feels foreign, almost painful.

The confusing part of the whole situation is the subject matter of the dream. It's based on a real memory she knows all too well.

The sound of waves mixing with the murmur of voices coming from below; the smell of dust and sand and wind; the feel of the warm blanket wrapped around her body as she lies mutely in the bed.

Her eyes are drawn to the door when it opens, Ron slipping in quietly. He pauses at the side of the bed, standing there awkwardly for what feels like forever before he speaks.

“Are you alright Hermione?” he asks in a hopeful tone.

It takes her a moment to find her voice. She hasn't really felt like talking much since they arrived at Shell Cottage. “I don't know.” It's the only answer she can give, because it's true.

She can hear Ron swallow, even though she isn't looking at him anymore. His discomfort at the situation is palpable, and Hermione really doesn't feel like adding it to the mixture of her own feelings.

“Right.” He pauses, opening and closing his mouth again before continuing to speak. “Well, you will be, don't you worry. Before you know it you'll be back on your feet and everything will be fine. We'll get back to our search, and I know we'll make more headway.” He's babbling now, not really sure how to end the conversation.

Hermione slowly rolls her eyes back to him, though she really doesn't know how to respond. She's relieved when the door opens again and Fleur enters the room.

“I just need to look over her wounds again, and then she really needs more rest Ron.” She speaks quietly, waiting to approach Hermione until Ron nods his head and makes a hasty retreat from the room.

Hermione doesn't speak as Fleur gently pushes the covers down, checking her over carefully and gently, as if she's afraid she'll cause her more physical pain.

Hermione doesn't think that's possible given what she endured at the hand of Bellatrix Lestrange, but she appreciates the effort.

“It is ok if you do not want to talk about it for a while.” Fleur utters softly, pausing her hands for a moment.

The words startle Hermione, she wasn't really expecting much conversation from Fleur. She turns her head slightly, making it clear she's listening, while not making actual eye contact.

Fleur must take the subtle shift as permission to go on, her hands continuing their careful search of the physical wounds on Hermione's body, as she speaks softy again.

“You may feel like you will never be ready to talk about it, or think about it much. But when you are ready, you have people here to listen. You do not need to rush it. What you went thru,” Fleur pauses, gently drawing the blankets back up, “it is not something you will just forget, or get over easily. No matter how much time you need to process everything, it is understandable.”

Out of the corner of her eye Hermione sees Fleur's hand hover over her own on the bed in indecision, before she finally lowers it and gives the lightest squeeze before letting go and continuing.

“You will survive though. You are strong. Maybe one of the strongest people I know. You will work your way through this when you are ready.”

“Promise?” The word is barely above a whisper, and Hermione has yet to look at Fleur, but when she finally moves her weary gaze to Fleur's she see's a sureness in those blue eyes that give her the first bit of real comfort since she escaped from Malfoy manor.

“I promise.” Fleur whispers back, their eyes remaining locked.

Hermione awakens with a startled breath.

It takes her a moment to realize she's in her own bed at Grimmauld place.

Before she can give herself any time to think on the dream, she's swinging her feet down to the floor and getting up from the bed.

Harry is reading the paper while leisurely stirring a spoon in his tea when Hermione enters the kitchen. “Morning Hermione.” He greats her without looking up.

“Morning.” She responds, grabbing a piece of toast Harry left for her. As she takes a bite her, mind wanders back to her dream for a moment before she yanks her awareness back to the present. She huffs out in annoyance at the mental intrusion.

“Everything all right 'Mione?” Harry asks, finally looking up from the paper to give her his undivided attention.

He gets a distracted nod in return.

“Still planning on going to Diagon Alley today?”

“If that's your way of asking for the millionth time if I'm sure about going back to Hogwarts this year, the answer is yes. And therefore, I will indeed be going to Diagon Alley today to get the supplies I need.” She raises an eyebrow at him, challenging him to say something negative about her plans.

“Oh don't look at me like that. I think it's brilliant you want to go back, I just want to be sure you're sure about it. And you know, I'm going to miss having you here as my flatmate.”

“It's not like I'm leaving forever Harry. I'll be back here on breaks, and I won't even be gone a full year. I think you're just afraid you'll have to consider yourself an alcoholic without me here to help you drink a bottle of wine three times a week.”

He gives a rueful smile. “Well there is that too.”

He keeps looking at her, and she knows he's trying to read her, but it's annoying and so her only response is an eye roll.

“You do know I'll support anything you do right? I just want you to be happy.”

Her face softens as she gives him a small smile. “I do. Trust me when I tell you, this is what I want right now.”

“Ok then.” He nods once firmly, standing to put his plate in the sink. “To be honest, I'm really glad you're going through with this, because I'd hate to cancel the awesome 'let's send Hermione off back to Hogwarts' party' I have planned on Friday.” He wiggles his eyebrows at her.

Hermione throws the remainder of her toast at him before turning to leave. “You are insufferable Harry Potter, do you know that?” She calls out over her shoulder, shutting the front door to the sound of Harry's laughter.

*****

Hermione can't quite place the feeling crawling across her skin as she spends the afternoon shopping for all the necessary school year supplies.

It's disconcerting, and it takes until she's finally made her last purchase to identify the feeling of being followed.

Old instincts kick in, and she ducks down an alley while reaching for her wand. The trouble is, there's a man waiting for her in the alley, and another one who follows her into the alley from behind.

She's thinking about the odds of taking on both of them, but she's at a serious disadvantage.

They both have their wands drawn and pointing at her.

Hermione can hear the bustle of shoppers continuing on in their day, completely unaware of her precarious situation. She thinks about yelling, but she's fairly certain she'd be dead before anyone came to her aid. These men do not seem the type looking for a simple chat.

She should probably be feeling terrified right about now, but instead she feels resigned. She'll have to think more on that later.

Assuming there is a later.

Finally, the man in front of her speaks. “Where do you think you're going sweetheart?” His voice is raspy and grating. “We'd like to have a little word with you,” his eyes focus beyond her head for a moment, “but not here.”

Before Hermione can react he's reaching out and taking firm hold of her elbow, twisting on the spot. It's been awhile since she's apparated, and she really hasn't missed the feeling of being squeezed through a tube.

They wind up in what looks like an abandoned warehouse of sorts.

There's still a firm grip on her arm, and the second man must have apparated just after them, because he pops into visibility, wand still raised and at the ready.

“Why?” Hermione asks, forgoing any kind of conversation. She knows without a doubt why they brought her here, and she doesn't feel like making small talk and pretending they aren't about to kill her.

The man with the raspy voice finally releases her arm, taking a careful step back and chuckling lowly before speaking.

“Why?” He scratches at the graying stubble on his chin, as if he's contemplating the answer. “Because you were supposed to be dead months ago, and someone couldn't get the job done.” He shrugs, a lewd grin sliding over his face. “But that's good for us, means we get a nice little reward.”

There's a quiet noise from one of the dark, dusty corners of the room, and both men tense up.

The one who's done all the speaking up to this point doesn't take his eyes off Hermione, but he jerks his head towards the direction of the noise, speaking to the other man. “Go see what that is.”

The silent partner makes his way cautiously to the other side of the room, peering into the darkness.

Finally he turns back their way. “Just a rat-”

The words haven't even fully left his mouth when a jet of green light hits him square in the back. His eyes lose their life before he ever hits the ground.

It's not a second later when another jet of green light hits Hermione's captor in the chest. He falls to the ground noiselessly, wand arm still outstretched towards her.

Hermione can feel her heart beating against her ribs, her eyes sweeping the room for the source of the spell. She knows though, even before Fleur steps out into the light, just who saved her.

The question is, why?

“Fleur?” She asks, puzzlement in her voice.

Fleur barely looks her way as she approaches the first man she killed. She uses the toe of her boot to turn his face, taking a long moment to look him over.

Her face is tight, a grimace visible on her lips. Something about the look is plucking at the back of Hermione's brain. It seems off, but she's struggling to place why.

“You killed them.” It's a useless comment, really, but it's the only thing she can think to say.

Fleur's eyes flick back over to her again for a second, before settling on the second man she felled, taking a good look at his face as well.

“Yes, I did.”

Her tone is what makes it click in Hermione's brain; Fleur took no enjoyment in killing these men.

Now that she sees it, the difference is glaring.

Voldemort, Bellatrix, Barty Crouch, the Death Eaters; they all seemed to enjoy killing, taking some kind of perverse pleasure in it.

Fleur is certainly not showing any pleasure right now.

Fleur waves her wand, and the two bodies disappear from sight.

Hermione looks at the places the bodies used to be in confusion. When she tilts her head she realizes the spell was a sort of camouflage, the bodies are still there, they just blend in with their surroundings on the floor.

Fleur finally turns her gaze to Hermione fully, eyes slowly moving down and back up again, looking for any harm that may have occurred. When she finds none she starts to turn away, saying “You should get out of here.”

Hermione's fingers curl into her palms. “Excuse me?”

Fleur turns back, a faint flicker of annoyance showing in her eyes. “I said, you should get out of here.” Her tone is dismissive, and it rankles Hermione.

“No. How about you take the time to explain what happened here?”

“There is nothing to explain Hermione.” She sounds almost tired, but Hermione presses on, needing answers. She feels desperate for them.

“You lied to me, didn't you?”

Now Fleur isn't even trying to hide how annoyed she is. “Lied about what, exactly?”

Hermione almost doesn't want to ask the question. She almost doesn't want to know the answer, because wether it's affirmative or negative, it brings a whole new set of questions into play.

“Whoever you work for, they didn't agree to let me live, did they?”

Fleur exhales slowly, her eyes drifting away for a moment, but when they return there's a sureness in them, almost like she needs Hermione to know she speaks the truth.

“I told you the truth, Hermione.” She pauses, weighing her words carefully, her head tilting slightly. “But there was some disagreement on the choice from a few individuals.” Her eyes glance towards the spot where the bodies are now camouflaged. “Will you please go home now?”

She turns away yet again, and Hermione speaks without thinking.

“You can't kill me, can you?” The words come out so soft.

Fleur turns her gaze back to Hermione and the air between them immediately feels heavy.

Fleur searches Hermione's eyes intently before speaking. “You just saw me kill two people, do not tell me you still question my ability to do so?”

Hermione swallows. It's too late to back out now.

“No Fleur, I mean, you can't kill _me_.”

It's Fleur's turn to swallow, and she does it slowly, Hermione's eyes drawn to the action.

“How long have you known?” Fleur takes a careful step towards Hermione, head tilting in question.

“I'm not sure really. A while?” If Hermione's completely truthful, something has been whispering in the back of her brain since the Battle of Hogwarts.

Fleur's still watching her with that careful gaze, and Hermione was really hoping for more information than just a simple confirmation. She needs more.

“What does it mean?”

Fleur shrugs, her face suggesting a casualness that her body does not show as she holds herself tense.

“We're, what, bonded? Is that the correct term?”

Fleur just nods once.

“So, by being bonded, that means...” Hermione trails off. She knows what she read, but she doesn't really want to say it. She's afraid of what happens if she says it out loud, but if she doesn't she'll never get answers. “You're in love with me?”

“What?” Fleur's tone is incredulous.

“Isn't that how the whole bonded thing works?” Hermione asks.

The look on Fleur's face makes Hermione wish she could be swallowed up by the floor.

Fleur pinches the bridge of her nose, tilting her head down and muttering to herself in French.

“You know I do speak a modicum of French Fleur, and I have a decent enough idea of what you're mumbling to yourself over there.” Hermione huffs out, arms crossing over her chest. She's not sure if the move is to convey annoyance or hold in the mortification in her chest that feels like it wants to come spilling out.

“I would think,” Fleur starts slowly, finally releasing the bridge of her nose and capturing Hermione's gaze again, “that someone who is considered to be so bright would not use books that are little more than fables in her research.”

A scowl mars Hermione's features. “It's not like there's an abundance of writing on the topic of Veela culture Fleur, I read what I could find. Since I seem to be so horrifically off the mark why don't you enlighten me as to what us being bonded means?”

“What it means? It means that despite what my brain might want to do,” she's speaking very slowly, taking small steps towards Hermione, “every inner instinct I have tells me to protect you. Tells me I can not kill you, can not harm you in any way, and it makes me,” she's only a few feet from Hermione now, her lips tucked to the side as she tries to come up with the right word, “inclined to not let others harm you in any way either.”

The words make Hermione a little breathless, and she has no idea why. Or, if she does, she doesn't want it.

“Well I don't need your protection, thank you very much. I release you.”

“Excuse me?” Fleur's tone is low and dangerous.

“I said, I release you, you're free of your duties.” Hermione tilts her chin up just a bit in challenge.

Sparks shoot from the tip of Fleur's wand that is, thankfully, pointed towards the floor. It's like storm clouds are passing over her face, and it only takes a moment for Hermione to realize her mistake.

Fleur Delacour is a very proud person, and Hermione is getting an up close and personal look at what that entails.

“I am not a genie Hermione. You can not just dismiss me from my duties as if you have power over me.” She bites out.

“Well I don't want your protection, and I don't want whatever the hell this bond is.” Hermione snaps.

“That makes two of us, chérie.”

They are both breathing harder than the situation warrants. Hermione can physically feel the tension in the air, their gazes locked, neither of them wanting to be the first to flinch.

Finally, Fleur breathes out slowly through her nose, closing her eyes for a moment before speaking evenly. “Go home Hermione, get ready to go back to Hogwarts. We are done here.”

She turns on her heel, striding away before Hermione can think of a retort, tossing over her shoulder “and be more careful!” before turning on the spot and popping out of the room.

Hermione deflates, exhausted from the encounter.

She allows herself just a moment to let it all bounce around inside before taking a deep breath and burying it. She's starting to wonder if there is enough space for it all.

She's really not sure anymore.

*****

Hermione swears she isn't hiding in the kitchen from all the party goers. There's more prep work to do, is all. She would hate for the veggie platter to run empty, what kind of send off party would it be without a good veggie platter?

She's repeating the justification over and over in her mind while chopping the vegetables with precision, the movement helping to calm her mind and keep the whirlwind within her at bay.

She's just finished off the cucumbers when she becomes aware of someone watching her.

She should be alarmed, considering the feeling is coming from behind her, away from the door into the kitchen with the party in full swing on the other side.

But she knows.

She can feel it in her gut, the identity of the person, almost like her body is in tune with the intruder without her mind even needing to be aware.

The thought makes her heart thud, though she manages to keep her hands steady, still slicing in an even rhythm with the knife.

“And what did those vegetables ever do to you, hm?”

Fleur's tone is light, teasing, but Hermione finds herself tensing. She lets out a small huff, tilting her head slightly to the side to indicate her annoyance without having to speak actual words.

“Ok then, perhaps you are not in the for mood conversation,” Hermione can actually sense Fleur shrugging her shoulders behind her, “although that would be a curious mood to be in during a party in your own honor.”

Hermione loses her resolve to remain silent, whirling around with lips parting in preparation of lashing out, but the retort dies on her tongue quickly.

Her eyes have a mind of their own as they slowly work up from Fleur's high heels, past long legs, and over a dress that looks like it was made for her body, before finally getting to the intense gaze currently fixed on Hermione's right hand, one perfect eyebrow arched quizzically.

“Stabbing does not really seem your style Hermione.”

Hermione realizes the knife is still clutched in her hand, rather tensely. She forces herself to relax, lowering her hand slowly.  
  
Fleur slightly lifts one corner of her mouth in a small amused smile, which finally breaks Hermione from her stupor fully.

“What are you doing here Fleur?” The question is not asked nicely, and Hermione really doesn't care.

Fleur takes her time slowly lifting an eyebrow again. “I thought this was a send off party for you? Are we not celebrating your return to Hogwarts?”

“We are not celebrating anything Fleur. Have you forgotten what happened just days ago?” Her eyes involuntarily sweep back down the dress again. She forces her eyes back up immediately.

When their eyes meet again there's an array of emotions passing through Fleur's eyes, but Hermione can't pin any of them down. She huffs out a breath of air at the loose strands of hair in her periphery in frustration.

Finally, Fleur parts her lips to speak, but before she can get a word out the door to the kitchen swings open. Hermione spins around, eyes wide, a million excuses flying through her mind to explain the scene.

“No mate, it's all right, I'm just going to say hi for a quick second.”

Thankfully, Ron's isn't facing her, having backed his way into the room while calling down the hall to Harry about his intentions.

Hermione whips her head back around afraid of what will happen if Ron finds Fleur here, but she's disappeared. Hermione feels relief, but finds it quickly replaced with an anxiety over the confrontation she's been avoiding for a while now.

Ron finally turns her way, stopping in his tracks when he finds Hermione staring at him. He makes a small noise in his throat before rubbing the back of his neck. Traits Hermione knows well as signs of his nervousness.

Finally he speaks. “Hey. Could we talk for a minute?”

Hermione knows this conversation can't be avoided forever. And really, she thinks she owes him at least one honest conversation, no matter how unpleasant it might be.

She gives a gentle nod, placing the knife back on the counter as she tries to come up with anything that might explain her recent behavior. Her stomach turns as she realizes she's not sure she can.

*****

Over an hour later Hermione warily climbs the stairs to her room, leaving behind the last few party stragglers for Harry to deal with.

Her conversation with Ron went far better than she could have imagined. It seems she's not the only one emotionally floundering these days.

Their brief time in the kitchen actually helped Hermione start to remember why they grew to be such close friends in the first place. While there was still a bit of awkwardness when Ron called it a night and hugged her goodbye, she felt relief at being able to purge whatever feelings of guilt and recrimination were swirling around in the back of her mind.

When she finds Fleur sitting on her bed she should be surprised, but she's not. She thinks she might even have consciously expected it if she hadn't been busy replaying the conversation with Ron in her head.

Hermione silently turns to shut the bedroom door behind her, hand reaching out to lock the door without thought before turning back with eyebrows raised in question.

Fleur looks so casual in her space, her arms stretched back behind her, leaning on her palms, legs crossed and swinging ever so slightly over the edge of the bed.

She's still wearing that infernal dress, and the way she looks in it is enough to leave Hermione annoyed, though she's not quite sure why.

Her mind whispers that she's a liar, which only deepens her scowl.

“Judging by the look on your face I am guessing your conversation with Ronald was, shall we say, unpleasant?” There's a mischievous glint in Fleur's eyes, almost playful.

It's the last straw for Hermione.

She steps away from the door while crossing her arms. “My conversation with Ron is absolutely none of your business.” Her tone is cold.

It manages to extinguish whatever spark was dancing in Fleur's eyes. She narrows her gaze a bit as she pushes herself up off the bed in one fluid and perfect looking motion.

“If you are not in the mood for pleasant conversation you could just say so.”

She turns to leave, pausing to whip her gaze back when Hermione lets out a derisive snort.

“Really Fleur, is that what your little visits are for? Having pleasant conversation?”

“I-”

Hermione cuts Fleur off immediately. “Like earlier this week, when two men tried to kill me, but you killed them first? Was that pleasant conversation we were having afterwards?” Her tone is dripping with sarcasm. “Because it seemed to me like you were more interested in dismissing me than having any kind of conversation.”

There's a slow burn building inside Hermione. Her brain is telling her she should leave it alone, let Fleur walk out before things escalate further. But she can't. Because the air feels heavy with something, and that something came into existence the instant Fleur showed up in the kitchen.

“I'm tired of whatever little game is going on here Fleur.”

It didn't seem possible for Fleur's eyes to narrow more, yet they somehow do.

“You planned to kill me not all that long ago, but instead of doing, so you let me go. Then, you start showing up and making conversation as if everything is perfectly normal. Of course that was before you killed two men to save me. You admit we're bonded, but show an obvious distaste for whatever that means. All of this leads me to wonder why you're here and what it is you want. So I'm going to ask you once Fleur. What. Do. You. Want?”

Fleur spends the entirety of the tirade staring at her mouth, and Hermione feels her pulse speed up as Fleur's eyes connect with hers.

There's something burning there, and it starts a feeling low in Hermione's stomach.

When another beat passes, then two, without Fleur uttering a word, Hermione whispers the question again “What do you want?” The words are anguished, and it seem to break Fleur out of her silence.

“You.”

One simple word, yet it makes Hermione's heart stutter in her chest.

She doesn't have time to think on it because Fleur is in front of her in two quick steps, drawing Hermione in, brushing their lips together.

Hermione's hands immediately go to Fleur's shoulders with every intention of pushing her away, but now her fingers seem to have a mind of their own as they curl into the material of Fleur dress, drawing her impossibly closer.

The move surprises Fleur, and she pauses just for a moment, lips parted and hovering over Hermione's.

It feels as if someone else is in control of her own body as Hermione pulls Fleur back into the next kiss. And it certainly can't be her who makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat when Fleur's tongue runs along her bottom lip, yet it is, she knows it is.

At the first brush of tongues Hermione's hands release their vice like grip on the front of Fleur's shoulders and slide their way up to the back her head, drawing her closer and deepening the kiss as her fingers tangle in silken hair.

Hermione isn't sure how long they stand there kissing, she's lost all concept of time, but she's vaguely aware of Fleur taking small steps backwards towards the bed, drawing her along.

She lets a surprised squeak when Fleur spins them suddenly, giving her a gentle shove back onto the bed.

Fleur's eyes are the darkest Hermione's ever seen, and there is an intensity burning there that makes her squirm a bit as heat continues to build low in her stomach.

She scrambles back when Fleur crawls onto the bed after her, arms coming to rest on either side of Hermione's head and Hermione finds her hands twisting back in the front of Fleur's dress.

Fleur hesitates, holding herself up to keep space between their bodies. Her lips are parted, breath erratically crashing from her lips as she looks down Hermione's body slowly before sweeping her eyes back up.

Hermione's breath catches when their eyes meet. There's a hunger in Fleur's eyes, wild and uninhibited, and it makes something flip low in Hermione's body.

She's never seen Fleur look out of control, yet that's the only way to describe her now.

But then Fleur's eyes dip back down Hermione's body again, and when they come back up there's a different look in them, one that catches Hermione completely off guard.

There's a hesitance in their depths, a hint of a question.

And Hermione knows. Without words she just knows.

This is her moment to stop what they are hurtling towards if she so chooses. Fleur is giving her an out.

Instead of having a calming effect, the knowledge makes Hermione's skin feel feverish, as if Fleur is touching her everywhere, and once that thought makes its way into her mind, she can't shake it.

She needs to feel Fleur.

It defies logic, she shouldn't want this; she shouldn't want Fleur, yet she does. Oh god, she does.

As soon as the shaky 'Yes' falls from Hermione's lips their bodies are crashing back together.

Now that they have explicit permission, Fleur's hands explore everywhere, divesting Hermione of her clothes along the way.

She quickly dispatches of her own as well when Hermione lets out a very unladylike like and displeased noise while pulling at the fabric of Fleur's dress.

A lazy half smile overtakes Fleur's face as she works at the zipper on the side to remove the offensive material. “Careful now, this dress is expensive.”

Whatever sarcastic retort making it's way out of Hermione's mouth dies on her tongue as Fleur sweeps the dress over her head. She drops it to the floor before reaching around behind her back to unclasp her own bra, discarding it on the floor as well.

Hermione audibly swallows as her eyes take in Fleur's almost naked form straddling her own hips. When she gets to the underwear still encasing her hips (although 'underwear' is a generous term for the scrap of lace) she arches an eyebrow and raises a questioning gaze back up to Fleur's eyes.

There's a ridiculous smirk on her face, and Hermione feels an overwhelming urge to erase it.

She succeeds when she hooks her fingers into the side of Fleur's underwear and jerks her own hips upwards to indicate her desire for Fleur to lift herself up and help with the divesting of the offensive article of closing.

The momentary playful nature disappears in an instant once a now naked Fleur lowers herself back down to capture Hermione's lips, their whole bodies pressing together. Hermione doesn't even recognize her own voice when she lets out a low moan.

Fleur takes complete control at that point, and things become a heady blur for Hermione.

She's only aware of lips and skin and fingers causing a heavy heat pooling low in her stomach.

One of her hands grips the sheets in a vice like grip while the other buries itself in Fleur's hair as she makes her way down Hermione's body with attention to every dip, every curve, and every freckle.

When Fleur finally reaches her destination Hermione can barely breath. It feels like too much. She can't possibly take anymore, her body already at a fevered pitch. She can feel a heat prickle all over her skin, even the bottoms of her feet feel like a fire is consuming them.

“I can't-” the words slip past her lips as her thighs begin to shake uncontrollably, but Fleur's lips and fingers insist she can, bringing her to a dizzying heights before she hurtles over the edge, making noises she never would have dreamt herself capable of making.

As Fleur slowly brings her back down, she feels boneless and sated in a way her mind can't fathom. Her eyelids are heavy as her breathing slowly returns to normal.

She's hazily aware of Fleur making her way back up her body, but she can't pay much mind to it.

That is until her eyelids are shooting back open when Fleur chuckles softly in her ear, murmuring “You can not possibly think I am done with you yet”.

Hermione's body betrays her weary brain as something starts to build low in her body again.

Whatever it is she did think, it quickly leaves her mind, along with any other cognizant thought.

*****

Hermione slowly stirs awake in the darkness, confusion muddling her brain. Her body feels heavy, in a delicious sort of way, and she's naked.

She never sleeps naked.

A quiet noise on the other side of the room draws her attention, and she slowly (she doesn't seem to be able to move any faster than that at the moment) turns her head to find the source.

She blinks through the faint moonlight streaming through the window to see Fleur pulling on a pair of boots. Her heart starts racing in her chest when the events of the night start to play back in her mind.

  
 When Fleur straightens up she can see the dress from earlier in the night has been replaced by jeans and a black jacket, heavy dark boots on her feet, hair pulled back into a practical, but still perfect, pony tail.

Hermione's heart gives a heavy thud. She should be wondering where Fleur even got a change of clothes from, but instead all she can think about is what the outfit means.

She knows.

She doesn't want her mind to piece it together, but the realization is there before she can stop it.

Fleur's gaze abruptly cuts to hers, as if she could feel her eyes on her, and the look in her eyes suggest she might even be able to hear the trajectory of Hermione's thoughts.

Their gazes remain locked, their eyes making the conversation their mouths refuse to engage in.

After what feels like an eternity Fleur breaks the stare, turning to the window. She pauses just for a moment, taking a visible breath and straightening her shoulders, and then she's gone without another look back.

Hermione's eyes remain on the spot Fleur last stood before her eyelids grow heavy again.

She tells herself she'll figure it all out in the morning just before sleep overcomes her again.

 

 


	2. Part Two

The beginning of term should be a welcome occurrence for Hermione. She reminds herself of that regularly.

Sometimes she's able to find comfort in the routine and familiarity of it all.

But there are other times, just small moments really, when something triggers her, and she's right back in the chaos and turmoil.

She's right back in that moment.

The moments are usually fleeting though, and Hermione manages to will herself back to a place of control and calm.

The ever present battle against the invading thoughts and feelings does not leave much time for sorting out other emotional states.

No, in between the classes and homework, polite conversations with Ginny and Luna that have yet to reveal the depths of their lasting scars, and an ever present desire to just feel like she's standing on solid ground again, there simply hasn't been time to analyze what occurred between her and Fleur.

That's not to say she hasn't thought about it.

Oh she tries to keep it from her mind, really she does, but there are nights she can still feel the fiery touch, hear the whispers in her ear.

Each time the thoughts come unbidden she does her best to push them away.

She is far from a 100% success rate.

It's officially two weeks into the term. Almost two and a half weeks since their encounter.

Hermione is tired after a long day of classes and faking an interest in what her peers talk about during dinner in the great hall.

She finds herself, yet again, grateful that McGonagall insisted she take a private room this year. She put up a weak protest in the name of politeness, but relief washed through her when the current headmaster would not take no for an answer.

The only thought on Hermione's mind when she reaches her door is how much she wants to shed herself of the infernal school robes and get off the skirt she sleepily threw on this morning when she realized she was in danger of being late to her first class.

She curses her fitful sleep the night before yet again.

The singular track of her mind comes to a crashing halt when she enters her room to find Fleur, standing by the fireplace with a warm and inviting fire going, leafing through one of Hermione's school books.

Of course.

There's a slight jolt in her chest the moment she sets eyes on Fleur, and it's the real reason an annoyed sigh is pushing through Hermione's lips as she shuts the door behind her.

Fleur snaps the book shut at the sound, her eyes cutting to Hermione. She stays silent, watching Hermione with a guarded expression. Her is body held close to rigid as she seemingly waits for Hermione's reaction.

“I would ask how you got in here, but I suppose there's really no point,” Hermione monotones.

Fleur's body visibly relaxes at the sound of her voice, one corner of her mouth quirking up as her eyes follow Hermione's movements.

“You say that as if breaking into Hogwarts is a difficult thing.”

Hermione pauses as she hangs her robe, hand suspended in the air for a moment, before shrugging her shoulders.

Fleur has a point.

She loosens the knot in her tie a bit as she turns back, her movements halting awkwardly when she catches the way Fleur's eyes are sweeping over her.

Bit by bit Hermione can feel her body heating up as Fleur's impossibly blue eyes make their way down her body and back up. When their eyes meet again Hermione's breath catches.

“I-” Fleur starts, but no words follow. She places the book on the table beside her before taking slow steps forward.

Hermione takes a single step back before forcing herself to stand in place.

Her brain his screaming at her to ask why Fleur is here, but nothing will come out.

It should be alarming, but Hermione finds herself more panicked about the fact that she doesn't care.

Her body is making it clear that it does not remotely care why Fleur is here, but rather it has far more interest in what she's going to do now that she is.

“I came here to talk.” Fleur's uncertain eyes bounce around Hermione's face before locking onto her lips. “I wanted to talk about things.” She stumbles over her words in a very uncharacteristic way.

“Talk,” Hermione breaths out, eyes dropping to the hand Fleur is slowly reaching towards her.

Fleur freezes, her own eyes looking down at her hand in a kind of disbelief, as if it's betraying the rest of her body.

It's a short moment, seconds really, but it allows Hermione the time to make a decision.

She could step out of this moment, put some distance between them.

She could demand Fleur leave. Should demand it, she thinks.

But when Fleur's eyes make their way back to hers, something uncontrolled simmering in them, it's obvious what the decision is.

It's obvious what the decision was always going to be as soon as she saw Fleur again.

“I don't think talking is really in order at the moment.” Hermione manages to get out before they're both moving into each other.

It's frenzied from the start.

Fleur is kissing her senseless and all Hermione can do is crave more.

Her fingers dig in at Fleur's hips, drawing her impossibly closer as she nips at her bottom lip. The noise Fleur makes is delicious, and Hermione hums in appreciation.

She's aware of Fleur's fingers making quick work of the buttons on her blouse, a hand shoving the fabric off of one shoulder before both hands slide back to her breasts. She palms them over her bra, running her thumbs over the nipples straining through the material.

The sensation makes Hermione gasp, the momentary break in their kiss sending Fleur's lips off on a journey down the slope of her neck, kissing and sucking all the way down to her collarbone.

Her hands trace down Hermione's sides, slow enough to feel ever rib, over her hips and down the outside of her thighs, before making an agonizingly slow path back up her inner thighs, teasing their way under her skirt.

When slender fingers delicately trace the edges of her underwear before hooking in the band with clear intent to remove the barrier, Hermione squeezes her eyes shut and attempts to take a steadying breath.

“Fleur...” Hermione tries to make an effort at some last minute sanity.

“Hmmmm?” Fleur hums out, lowering Hermione's underwear at a criminally slow pace, fingers brushing against her skin in a way that makes Hermione's knees feel weak.

Hermione steps out of the garment once it hits the floor, failing miserably at her attempt to slow the moment.

“Fleur, wh-” she shivers when Fleur presses a kiss to the hollow below her earlobe, “What are we doing?”

The question pauses Fleur, drawing her back to look into Hermione's eyes.

Her pupils are blown, her lips parted in an attempt to catch her breath. Her head is shaking in desperation before the words leave her mouth.

“I don't know,” she breathes out.

And god, the honesty of Fleur's answer and the desperation in her eyes tugs at somewhere deep inside of Hermione. It feels like the perfect answer, even though it's no answer at all.

Her feet are moving before she's even aware, backing Fleur towards the bed.

Fleur's knees hit the side of the bed and she sits down, her hands curled in the fabric of Hermione's shirt drawing her down to straddle her lap.

For a moment they're still. Hermione can feel her stomach fluttering at the intensity of Fleur's gaze, and if she's honest, the only thing she wants to do right now is drown in it.

“Touch me.”

Fleur's breath catches at the request and the rough delivery.

One of her hands is already making it's way down Hermione's body, a strangled “I need to...I want to...” falling from her lips before her gentle touch makes it's way underneath the skirt and initiates an agonizingly soft contact with Hermione's center.

Hermione can feel her body warming up instantly at the touch, her breath puffing out of her mouth in a quick gust while her head slowly lulls back. Her eyelids are heavy and she gives up trying to keep them open at all when Fleur lips make their way across the tops of her breasts.

In another lifetime Hermione might have considered her current predicament to be something worth being embarrassed about.

Her hands are buried in Fleur's hair while her hips rock to meet the gentle thrusts into her, shirt shoved off of one shoulder while her tie still hangs down her front.

Instead she feels in control for the first time in a long time. That might scare her if she pondered on it, but right now she can barely remember her own name,

She can feel a heat spreading across her skin, all the way to the tips of her ears, and she knows she's close.

So close.

When Fleur circles her thumb around her most sensitive part before pressing down with her next thrust, Hermione careens over the edge with a small cry, burying her face in the crook of Fleur's neck.

Fleur brings her down slowly, pressing gentle kisses to her hair.

Hermione can feel Fleur's heart beating against her own chest, wild and strong from the exertion. She'd like to listen to it indefinitely, but then her mouth opens and words are coming out before her brain catches up.

“Do you have to leave tonight?”

Fleur's body tenses against Hermione, and she regrets asking the question.

They both know what the real question is, and neither one of them want to think about their respective realities right now.

Hermione braces herself for a negative reaction just as Fleur's body softens. She shakes her head 'no' before speaking softly.

“I do not.”

Hermione's heart jolts once and quick against her chest at the answer and her mind is made up.

She moves herself slowly until she is sitting up straight again, slowly lifting her tie over her head. She can't help the curl that comes to one side of her lips at the way Fleur watches the action with rapt attention.

She gently places a hand in the center of Fleur's chest and pushes her back.

“Good.”

It's the last coherent word either of them speaks for a long while.

*****

Time passes at Hogwarts in spurts and fits, classes and general life passing in a blur, with occasional moments of sharp clarity.

Letters to and from Harry; awakening from nightmares; random snippets of articles and pictures in the Daily Prophet jumping out and connecting themselves in a way Hermione would really prefer they didn't.

But the sharpest moments, the ones with the most startling clarity in her life these days, are the ones spent with Fleur.

They don't discuss it, but they quickly fall into a routine, coming together whenever Fleur is free from...whatever it is she does.

For the first month their time together is mostly physical, hours spent exploring each other's bodies, getting comfortable with each other.

Sometimes Fleur stays over, slipping away in the early morning, other times she leaves as quickly and easily as she arrived.

But lately, it feels like things are settling into a heavier place; a place beyond heady whispers, lips and bodies.

Hermione can't quite place what it is, but it seems a lot like a slow motion roll down a hill, the bottom which is unseeable and feels dangerous.

Hermione could really stand to not exist in a state of danger for a single other day of her life.

*****

  
Harry's latest letter arrives a few days into November.

Things at the ministry are going swimmingly, and it seems he's on the fast track to leading his own team of aurors.

Hermione can't say she's surprised. The typical training for an auror seems a bit unnecessary for the life Harry has already led.

She's laughing about a ribald story Harry's recounting in painstaking detail when Hermione runs into Luna. Those eyes that always seem lost in a day dream focus enough to look apologetic.

“Sorry about that Hermione, I should have been looking where I was going.”

Hermione has greatly softened in regards to Luna's eccentricities since the war, and their friendship is honestly one of the few things keeping her tethered to the current life she's leading.

“Don't worry about it Luna, it was my fault, I was lost in my reading.” She waves the letter as explanation. “From Harry, filling me in on his training exploits at the Ministry.”

Luna eyes the parchment paper, a slow smile spreading across her lips.

“Oh yes, he's doing quite well from what I hear. I actually saw him there a couple weeks ago. He was looking very official in his auror training robes.”

“You saw him at the Ministry?” Hermione asks. She's not sure why she's clarifying, but she feels an inquisitiveness about it.

Luna's smile changes to something Hermione can't quite place.

“Yes, at the Ministry. They've allowed me to start my Healer training part time while I finish my final year. Something about real life practice being more important than the written word.”

Hermione's eyes narrow just a fraction at the sentiment, but then widen when she realizes what Luna just said. How had she been so unaware that Luna was spending such a significant part of her time away from school grounds?

“I'm so sorry Luna, I had no idea you were doing that. Did you mention it before?”

Luna shrugs, looking non-committal, which isn't all that unusual for her, if Hermione's being honest.

“Maybe just in passing, but nothing like an outright announcement.”

She must sense Hermione's embarrassment at not having paid more attention, giving her shoulder a gentle pat before moving to leave.

“It's ok Hermione, I understand you've been a bit...pre-occupied with some things lately.”

There's something in Luna's eyes, just for a second, Hermione could swear it, but then she blinks and the usual hazy look is back.

“I'll see you around Hermione.”

It takes a good minute for Hermione to dismiss any feelings of oddity at the conversation. After all, she really hasn't been paying much attention lately, and good sleep has been so elusive.

Perhaps she should work on that.

*****

She really needs to study. She has a potions exam in the morning, which has never really been a strong suit of hers. And while her heart hasn't really been in her studies this year, the way it used to be, a failing grade would simply be unacceptable.

And so, she really should be studying.

It's just that, unsurprisingly, she finds herself so very distracted by the make out session she's currently involved in.

“I'm serious Fleur, I really have to study,” she mumbles against Fleur's impossibly soft lips.

Fleur makes a humming sound that could be an agreement or dissent, Hermione isn't really sure.

“I heard you the first five times.” Fleur manages to get out while changing the angle of their kiss. She swipes her tongue across Hermione lower lip before whispering “By all means, don't let me keep you.”

But then she's pulling Hermione into another searing kiss, and merlin, Hermione is having such a hard time remembering why they shouldn't just spend the rest of the night tangled up together.

Fleur has the top two buttons of Hermione's shirt undone, hands softly running along the angle of her collarbones before tracing along the tops of her breasts.

The sensation has Hermione breathing in deeply through her nose, breaking their kiss to push her furrowed brow against Fleur's forehead.

She's straddling Fleur's lap, and she really, really wants to keep doing what they'e doing (and more), but she's convinced she needs to prove she still has some sort of control here.

Even if it seems like a terrible idea.

She leans back, leveling Fleur with what she hopes is a calm and in charge look.

One corner of Fleur's lips twitches up as she raises a single eyebrow. “Study time?”

The smile stretching across Hermione's lips is bigger than it ought to be really, but the sparkle she can see in Fleur's eyes seems to illicit that reaction.

“I'm afraid so.” She leans in for a quick peck before gently removing Fleur's hands from inside her shirt, swinging a leg over her lap and climbing off the bed.

Fleur manages to look put out, but the humor in her eyes tell Hermione she's not actually all that upset.

“I suppose I should be going then, since you need time to be so, _studious_.” She manages to make the last word sound like both an insult and a sexy suggestion.

Hermione grabs her potions textbook and notes, eyeing the stack of novels on her desk. She grabs one before turning to Fleur, a hesitant smile on her lips.

“You could stay you know, while I study? It's not like you have to rush off...unless you have things you need to...take care of.” Hermione looks down, her cheeks warming while her stomach turns unpleasantly.

Fleur ducks her head down a bit, urging Hermione to meet her gaze. When she finally does, Fleur tilts her head to the side a bit, contemplating.

“I do not have anything pressing that needs to be taken care of.” Her eyes dip down to the novel Hermione holds in her hand.

“Do you have something to offer me for entertainment, since other options are no longer possible?”

The humor in her eyes is clear, and it helps alleviate a few of Hermione's nerves. “Have you ever read any muggle novels?”

“I do not believe so, no.” The humor has changed to curiosity as she watches Hermione climb back on to the bed, holding out the book she holds.

“It's Jane Austen, a very famous muggle novelist. This one happens to be my favorite of hers, and I thought...”, Hermione trails off, because she's not exactly sure what she thought. What she does know is the heat in her cheeks is back again, and she doesn't know why.

Fleur takes the book, looking it over for a moment. “Pride and Prejudice? It sounds dreary.”

Hermione laughs. “And you sound English.”

Fleur scowls at that, opening the book with a scoffing noise and raising it in front of her face.

Hermione smiles as she crawls back onto the bed, arranging herself on her stomach with her head down by Fleur's feet.

After locating the correct page to start her studies she looks back over her shoulder to find Fleur still reading, in a more relaxed position now.

Shortly after she starts reading Hermione feels Fleur's hand come to rest softly on the back of her calf, and she really can't help the warmth that spreads through her at the simple connection.

*****

  
It surprises Hermione when Fleur reveals little pieces of herself. It's never expected, and maybe that's why it makes such a heavy impact.

It's normally just a tidbit here or there about her childhood. Nothing too in depth, no, but parts of her all the same.

Hermione lets out a giggle as one of the lights Fleur charmed into existence zips around her shoulders.

They're on their sides facing each other, lying on Hermione's bed. Small orbs of light in varying colors moving around in between them.

“This is the first conjuring spell my father ever taught me.” Fleur explains.

Hermione can't keep the grin off her face, and her heart stutters a little at the admission.

Fleur reaches her socked foot across the bed and nudges at Hermione's feet. Hermione nudges her foot right back.

Fleur raises an eyebrow at the gesture, and Hermione can't keep herself from crawling across the bed, the orbs of light scattering as she moves through them, to capture Fleur's lips in a soft kiss.

Hermione lets Fleur gently push her onto her back, deepening the kiss, but still keeping it gentle and soft.

Fleur pulls back, laying a hand against Hermione's cheek, and it's all too much.

Hermione softly shakes her head, completely and utterly at a loss for properly verbalizing the feelings coursing through her body.

“You make me feel things...” she trails tries, before trailing off. She's not sure what else to say.

Fleur gives her a small smile, the tiniest hint of sadness at the edges.

She doesn't speak, leaning in to kiss Hermione again instead.

It's not till later, when she's making her leave, that she brings the conversation back around.

She cups Hermione's cheeks in her hands, kissing her thoroughly before pulling back and resting her forehead against Hermione's.

“You make me feel things too.” She whispers the words.

Hermione squeezes her eyes shut at the admission. She doesn't want to ruin the moment, but there's something she has to know.

Her stomach flips uncomfortably in fear as she asks the question.

“Is it because of the bond?”

She feels Fleur pull back a fraction to look at her. Hermione senses that Fleur is waiting for her to open her eyes, so she does.

She is woefully unprepared for just how open and honest Fleur's face is.

Fleur shakes her head and gives a whispered but firm “No.”

And Hermione knows she's telling the truth.

She wants to feel every bit of the warmth the answer elicits in her, but the truth of their situation is never far from the back of her mind.

So instead she kisses Fleur again, giving her a small smile before she leaves.

And when she crawls into bed to sleep, a familiar struggle erupts in her mind, as she begs herself not to wonder where Fleur is and what she's doing.

*****

They're debating, which isn't unusual with both of them being so strong willed and out-spoken.

In all honesty, debating with Fleur sparks a part of Hermione to life she thought might not exist anymore.

Hermione feels equal parts warm and worry from that realization.

It slips out of her lips without much thought, the sentence flavored with barely concealed mirth.

“Says the girl who came in last place at the tri-wizard tournament.”

The second the words are out of her mouth a stillness settles into the room.

It's heavy, almost oppressive.

Hermione finds her gaze wandering the floor for a moment before reluctantly making it's way back to Fleur.

Her heart thuds once, heavy in her chest, when she sees how intently Fleur's eyes are locked onto her, a shadow of disbelief flickering in their depths.

She's extremely proud, this Hermione knows, but she gets the sinking feeling there's more to this than wounded pride.

Only when Fleur finally begins to speak does Hermione realize she's been holding her breath.

“You do realize that was just for show, hm? Part of a grander plan?” Her words are measured, coming out slow and even. Her head tilts slightly to the side clearly taking stock of Hermione's reaction.

And of course it's true, Hermione is certain of that. She would have come to the conclusion herself if she ever let herself critically think about the events of her fourth year.

It actually seems so obvious now that it's almost humorous.

Almost.

At least, it would be, if the truth didn't carry so much weight to their current predicament.

Hermione breathes out a slow breath before offering a weak “Of course.”

Fleur's shoulders slump just a fraction, her gaze drifting to the floor.

Hermione's stomach feels like lead as she watches Fleur visibly start to remake herself. An air of aloofness builds itself around her, as palpable as if she'd constructed a physical wall.

When Fleur finally meets Hermione's gaze again she feels sucker punched.

There's an iciness in the blue depths that hasn't been present around her for a long time.

She hates it.

“I should go,” Fleur says quietly, and so calmly.

Hermione swallows heavily, nodding. She has no idea how to salvage this situation, and a voice in her head is telling her maybe she isn't meant to.

Honestly, what is she expecting out of all of this? She doesn't know, and she doesn't feel like thinking about it right now.

Something flickers across Fleur's face that Hermione can't read, before she nods once, resolutely.

“Goodbye Hermione.”

She's gone then, and Hermione can't move at first, stuck to the spot as her stomach sinks lower and lower.

Finally she makes her way to the bed, slowly sitting down and putting her head in her hands.

Unable to process the implications of what just happened, one thought strikes her, harsh and cruel.

Fleur said goodbye when she left. She never says goodbye, it's always some sort of rendition of 'see you soon'.

Hermione squeezes her eyes shut so tightly she can see shapes in the darkness behind her eyelids, and wonders where they go from here.

*****

Weeks go bye. How many Hermione can't say exactly. All she knows is the continuing passage of time.

Dull, lifeless time.

There are bearable moments, like her correspondence with Harry, her time spent with Ginny and Luna; but most of her waking hours feel heavy and stifling.

Her sleeping hours have taken a turn for the worst as well.

Her nightmares increase in their frequency and terror. Some nights she only manages a few hours of sleep total, before the horrible images rouse her from sleep. The real life memories rob her ability to peacefully slip back to sleep.

She knows why she's feeling this way. She doesn't have the energy to lie to herself about it.

She misses Fleur, more than she ever could have imagined. But missing her like this doesn't change facts.

Hermione tells herself over and over like a mantra that her and Fleur shouldn't see each other anymore, that this is dangerous, and bad for her in the long run.

She knows logically she's right, but logic doesn't seem to help the feeling in the pit of her stomach, or the stinging in the back of her eyes at night when she's alone in bed.

Hermione hoped the feelings would lessen the more time passed, but with the way her chest aches, she thinks perhaps that hope was misguided.

****

  
When Hermione returns to her room after dinner, she's honestly not sure what she's more surprised by; Fleur waiting for her, or the way her heart kicks violently in her chest at the sight of her.

Hermione shuts the door slowly behind her, not taking her eyes away from Fleur.

She's afraid if she looks away it will turn out to be a figment of her imagination.

When Hermione blinks and Fleur is still standing before her, she feels the relief flood thru her.

Her eyes take in every last detail, from the points of Fleur's boots to the way her pale blonde hair is swept over one shoulder.

The fingers of her hand twitch in their desire to touch the soft strands. The movement kick starts Hermione's brain again, and her thoughts of the past month intrude on the moment.

“Fleur.”

The sound of her name rolling off Hermione's tongue elicits a reaction in Fleur.

Hermione can see the anguish in her eyes, the helpless crinkle of her brow. She remains silent, and Hermione realizes Fleur is waiting on her to start the conversation.

“What are we doing Fleur?”

It feels like deja vu.

It's been months since they first came together in her bedroom at Grimmauld Place. Looking back now, that moment felt inevitable, like a force of nature that could no longer be denied.

But now they're here, after all this time, and it scares Hermione to know they haven't found any kind of resolution or solution to this.

The logical thing would be to walk away, she knows that.

She does.

Hermione swallows thickly, her stomach rolling over in protest.

“Honestly, what comes of this? When I'm done with school, when it's time for me to move on-” her breath hitches at the words, and she finds herself at a momentary loss.

She collects herself before asking the question she's been avoiding for a while now.

“How does this end?”

She can't quite read the emotions flitting over Fleur's face, and she hates it. She needs some clarity; some understanding.

When Fleur finally answers, “I don't know.” it's disappointing, and Hermione isn't sure why. She can feel the prickle of tears in her eyes, but she tries to blink them away, annoyed at having yet another reaction she finds useless.

Fleur's face softens then, her eyes bouncing back and forth between Hermione's, as she takes a tentative step forward.

She stops after one step, an unsureness flashing across her face, before she seems to find some sort of resolve.

“This is what I know.” The words are so soft, and her face is so open as Fleur takes the final steps between them, her hands rising to softly cradle Hermione's jaw.

Hermione feels a single tear drop down her cheek.

Fleur hesitates for a moment, seeking permission in Hermione's eyes.

A second tear drops, and Fleur gives a shake of her head, her own eyes starting to tear up as she lowers her head.

The kiss is impossibly soft, and it takes Hermione's breath away. The warmth that spreads through her instantly is impossible to ignore.

Fleur pulls back, wiping away the wetness on Hermione's cheeks and murmurs something in French before bringing their lips back together.

It's as close to whole as Hermione's felt in a long time, kissing Fleur softly. The recesses of her mind are whispering she shouldn't feel this way.

But she does.

*****

_Hermione can't breath. The pain is overwhelming, the feeling of being torn apart from the inside coursing through her body. She tries to scream out, call for help, but she can't. She's paralyzed in fear. Then the laughter starts. The maniacal laughter, so clearly full of glee at inflicting pain. If she could only reach her wand, it must be here somewhere. But she can't reach out, all she can do is feel the pain._

She wakes with a start, struggling for a moment against the arms holding her before she realizes the gentle nature of the embrace.

Lips press softly against her temple, whispering calm words.

“You are okay.”

Fleur's voice washes over Hermione, and her body starts to relax.

She's in Hogwarts. She's not back there.

She's entwined with Fleur in her own bed, not being held down by a mad woman.

She breathes deeply thru her noise, exhaling slowly as the final vestiges of the dream slip away.

Fleur's hands are slowly running up and down her back, offering comfort, and Hermione curls more tightly into her, tucking her head underneath Fleur's chin.

Fleur gently brushes strands of her hair away from her cheek, pressing a kiss to the top of Hermione's head.

“You are okay.” She says one more time, and Hermione feels a peace settle back into her bones.

They lie there in silence for awhile, the gentle stroking of Hermione's back making her feel secure.

She doesn't realize the words are coming until she's already started speaking.

“I didn't think she'd ever stop.”

Fleur's hands pause just for a moment, before resuming their soothing path.

“The pain was unbearable, and I just didn't think she'd ever stop. Then there was a moment, where it was excruciating, and it was clear how much she was enjoying it, and I just wanted it to stop.”

She takes a shaky breath, feeling the tears come back.

“I knew everyone was counting on me, that I needed to survive, that Harry was going to need me to succeed. But in that moment, I just...wanted it to end. I was absolutely ok in that moment with just letting her end it all. And I just -”.

She can't continue, the tears taking away her ability to speak. She doesn't know what else she would even say.

The truth had been festering for so long within her, clawing it's way to her consciousness. She'd wanted to ignore it, bury it, but it was a dark insistent beast that would not be dismissed so easily.

Fleur stays silent, but her hands and embrace speak volumes. She squeezes Hermione a bit harder while she cries, her hands rubbing up and down her back, sometimes altering their path to trace her fingers down Hermione's arms.

Eventually the tears stop.

There's a hollow feeling in Hermione, but for the first time in a long time, she doesn't feel alone.

She presses her lips to Fleur's shoulder before settling her head onto her chest, listening to the strong steady heartbeat.  
Eventually the sound lulls her back to sleep.

The next time she awakens it's to a gentle shaking of her shoulder, and her name whispered gently.

She lifts her head to find Fleur sitting next to her on the bed, fully clothed, her eyes soft and gentle in the stillness of the night.

Hermione tries to speak but her voice is gravelly. She swallows before trying again.

“Do you have to go?”

Fleur shakes her head gently, one corner of her mouth curling up gently. “No. I want to show you something, if you do not mind?”

Hermione holds her gaze for a moment, turning it over in her head. She decides she wants to see anything Fleur is willing to show her. “Okay.”

She gets dressed in silence, raising an eyebrow in question when Fleur hands her a jacket. They're going somewhere outside then.

Once she's ready, Fleur leads her quietly and seamlessly thru the castle, checking around every corner for anyone, living or dead, that might catch them.

Once out on the grounds, Fleur lights the tip of her wand to guide the way. The sky is still dark in the early morning hours, and Fleur reaches out with her other hand to tangle her fingers with Hermione's.

Hermione can't help but look at their intertwined hands, a warmth seeming to spread up her arm from the contact.

They're heading in the direction of the Black Lake, and when they reach the edge of the lake Fleur leads them over to the nearest tree. She conjures a blanket on the ground and charms the air around them to form a warming barrier and ward off the chill.

Without letting go of her hand, Fleur sits down, back against the tree trunk, and draws Hermione down gently to sit, pulling her back against her front and encircling her waist with her arms. She brushes Hermione's hair away from one side and drops her chin onto her shoulder.

“Just in time,” she whispers, and Hermione feels a shiver move thru her at the feel of Fleur's breath on her ear.

Hermione's focus is drawn to the horizon where light is just starting to form. She realizes then, why they're here.

Fleur brought her to watch the sunrise over the lake. She feels a warmth in her chest that has nothing to do with the spell Fleur cast.

They stay silent for awhile, watching the sky change from inky black to hues of pink and red as the sun climbs higher. Fleur gives a small squeeze around Hermione's waist before she starts speaking.

“When I was little, I used to have terrible nightmares. Sometimes they were about the silly things that scare all small children, but sometimes...” she trails off for a moment, and Hermione can sense her hesitation before she speaks again. “Sometimes the nightmares would be about very real things happening in the world. Things happening to my family, to my kind of people. When I would wake up from these particular kinds of nightmares I was almost impossible to console. My child's mind could not understand how people could ever feel happiness in a world where such things could happen. I didn't understand how anyone could sleep peacefully.”

Fleur pauses in the story, and Hermione turns over the words in her head. She knows Fleur is revealing a part of her past that has a huge baring on her present, but she senses that is not the point of this.

“One morning, very early when the world was still dark, my father woke me up, told me he had something important to show me. He brought me outside to sit and wait. I actually started to fall back asleep at first,” Fleur chuckles at the memory, “but then as the sun began to rise my father spoke. He told me that no matter what happens in this world, to us, to the people we love, the sun will always rise. And with every sunrise is the chance to start over, to make whatever choices we need to make to survive, to be happy. He looked me in the eye and said that he could not always protect me, that nightmares would happen, whether I wanted them to or not, but to remember the sun would still rise in the morning, and I would have a new day to work towards whatever peace it was I needed.”

She falls silent again, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of Hermione's neck. When she speaks again her voice is so quiet and so calm.

“What happened to you Hermione, how you felt, it is nothing to feel ashamed of. But only you can make yourself believe that. The important thing to remember is, the sun will keep rising, and you will have a new chance to find peace in whatever way you need. A new day always comes.”

Hermione doesn't realize she's crying until a single tear falls from her check onto the sleeve of her jacket. She wipes her cheeks, inhaling the morning air deeply. She doesn't know what to say, but Fleur seems perfectly fine sitting in silence, holding her and watching the sky give itself fully over to daylight.

Finally Hermione utters a soft “Thank you.” Fleur squeezes her gently, settling back against the tree a little more.

Hermione is content to stay in this moment for as long as she can, watching the world come alive, feeling her own heartbeat match itself to the one she can feel beating in Fleur's chest.

She wonders absently if her heart beats only for herself these days.

She knows, deep down, it doesn't.

  
*****

  
The school year moves at an alarmingly fast pace. Hermione feels like she's hurtling towards what is supposed to be her real life, but she hasn't figured out what it should be yet.

It's like when she used to assemble jigsaw puzzles with her parents, and they would finally get the border completed. Getting all the edge pieces connected helped give an idea of what was to come, but there was still so much unknown about the final picture.

Apparently she's not the only one to feel like her future is uncertain.

The previous day McGonagall had called her into the headmaster's office, wanting to talk about her plans for when the school year ended.

The problem was, Hermione had no idea what she was going to do, and the school year was rapidly coming to a close.

McGonagall had peered at her in that unnerving way she had, where Hermione felt like she was reading something from the recesses of her mind even she herself wasn't aware of.

“Ms. Granger, I'm curious what your plans are for once you graduate?”

Hermione shrugged half heartedly, giving an honest answer. “I don't know.”

The stern look she received made her feel like was back in first year. But then McGonagall's face had softened, and she'd truly surprised Hermione with what she said next.

“I've been wondering if coming back to school this year was the best decision for you. While I completely understand your dedication and desire to fully complete your education, I feel, perhaps, that you, much like Mr. Potter, are a special case.”

Hermione couldn't help but squirm a bit, feeling uncomfortable with McGonagall's assessment. The sentiment was something that had crossed her own mind once or twice, but she always quickly squashed it.

Her attention returned to McGonagall as the headmaster shuffled together a small stack of papers.

“Ms. Granger, I've received regular correspondence and inquiries from the Ministry of Magic into your plans post-education. The Minister himself has written to say he would be delighted if you came to work for them.”

Hermione should have been surprised to hear that, but she thought about her interactions with Kingsley Shackabolt during the war, and she found she's really not.

“The Minister feels it's extremely important to bring those at the forefront of the war into the fold at the Ministry. He wants to ensure a new kind of Ministry is born after the horrors of the last several years. A real recruitment effort is taking place, which your friends Mr. Potter and Ms. Lovegood have already taken advantage of, to great success.”

McGonagall watched her carefully for a reaction, and Hermione couldn't help but examine her hands in her lap, trying to suss out her feelings on the conversation. One question popped to the forefront of her mind very clearly.  
 “What would-”, she had to pause to clear her throat, “What department would they want me to be working in?”

A small smile crossed the headmaster's face, and Hermione thought for a moment she almost looks proud.

“Well that's the thing Ms. Granger, they want you to work in whatever department interests you.”

That peaked Hermione's interest. “Any department?”

Now Hermione knew she wasn't imagining it, McGonagall was definitely leveling her with a proud gaze. “Yes, any department. You see, they recognize they would be fools not to seek out one of the brightest young minds in their midst. You could even join Mr. Potter in the Auror department if you so desired.”

Hermione realized she'd done a terrible job of concealing her complete lack of desire to become an auror when McGonagall quickly added “Or not.”

Hermione nodded slowly, her eyes wandering to the portrait of Snape. He looked like he was asleep, but Hermione was pretty sure it was just pretend. She doesn't care what Harry said at this point, she still found Snape to be mostly loathsome.

“Thank you headmaster. Can I have some time to think about it?”

“Of course, of course. Why don't you take some the reading materials they've sent over for you, peruse your options.”

Hermione nodded stiffly, taking the stack of papers and heading for the stairs, but McGonagall's voice stopped her.

“Hermione, I know the war was...difficult, for everyone, including you. I want you to know that you deserve a peaceful good life, whatever you decide that may be. I would even be inclined to offer you a position here should you ever want one.”

Hermione blinked, taken aback by the use of her first name as well as the sentiment. “Thank you again Headmaster, I appreciate it,” she responded quietly.

She took her leave then, blinking back tears.

Now she sits over breakfast, contemplating her future. She doesn't know what her next step should be, but she's starting to know the rough framework for some of her desires for the future.

She idly unrolls The Daily Prophet, and then blinks down at the picture on the front page.

Her heart gives a little jolt the way it always does when she sees Fleur, and god is she beautiful in the picture, but it's not what attracts Hermione's attention the most.

No, Hermione is more focused on who else is in the picture.

There's the Minister, shaking Fleur's hands, and a handful of other Ministry employees standing around with wide smiles on their faces, and then, off to the side of the group, stands Luna.

She looks lovely in her Healer robes, a small smile curling her lips, and nothing about the photo suggests anything untowards, but something is clawing at the back of Hermione's brain anyway.

The headline reads “Ministry is Thrilled With New Coalition for Magical Cooperation Amongst Magical Contingencies.”

She looks up and happens to catch Luna standing in the doorway to the Great Hall, chatting easily with Ginny. Hermione stares, as something clicks into place in her brain.

 

*****

  
Hermione makes her way back to her bedroom from the showers leisurely, lost in her thoughts.

There's a week and half left in the school year, and the only conclusion she's come to about her future so far is her return to Grimmauld Place when she leaves Hogwarts.

Harry is thrilled of course, which manages to bring a small smile to her face.

When she enters her room to find Fleur there standing in front of the fireplace, the smile on her face only grows.

Fleur turns when she hears the door, and the look on her face causes the edges of Hermione' smile to droop a bit.

She deposits her shower caddy on her desk before approaching Fleur slowly.

Normally she would pull Fleur in for a kiss immediately, but something flitting about in her eyes has Hermione hesitating and stopping in front of her before making any contact.

“Is everything okay Fleur?”

Fleur's brow creases momentarily at the question before smoothing out again. “Of course. I just wanted to see you. I hope that is all right?”

Hermione feels her stomach tug uncomfortably. Fleur never asks a question like that.

“You know it is.”

Fleur's lips twitch into a small smile as she steps into Hermione's space, taking her face in her hands and kissing her. It starts off softly, but it quickly changes. Fleur's lips are demanding her hands wandering down the front of Hermione's bath robe before settling on her hips.

Hermione pulls back for air, and the closer proximity allows her an uninterrupted look at the storm of emotions in Fleur's eyes.

Before she can comment on it Fleur is pulling her in for another bruising kiss, backing them up towards the foot of the bed.

When the back of Hermione's legs bump up against the bed Fleur swiftly moves her lips to Hermione's neck, nipping at her pulse point before soothing the spot with her tongue.

Hermione's eyes flutter shut for a moment, her body reacting with alarming speed to what Fleur is doing. She tries to form a coherent thought before things go farther.

“Fleur-” she cuts off and inhales sharply thru her nose when Fleur undoes the belt on her bathrobe, placing her hands on the skin of Hermione's rib cage. She traces her fingers up each individual rib, brushing the underside of Hermione's breasts before slowly widening the gap in the robe. The feeling of the robe material rubbing against her nipples causes Hermione to let out a soft moan.

Fleur licks up the side of Hermione's neck, dragging her teeth over an earlobe before pulling back to look down at her revealed breasts. Her tongue runs across her lower lip at the sight of Hermione's nipples.

“Fleur, are you sure you're ok?” Hermione tries again, before Fleur can take things farther, as she clearly plans to do.

Fleur looks up, her swollen parted lips and flushed cheeks causing a sharp tug low in Hermione's body.

But there's still the shadow of something in her eyes, and it's worrying Hermione.

Fleur's gaze moves back down her body before she answers, and when her gaze returns her pupils are blown.

“I want you. I need you Hermione. Now.”

She ducks down swiftly to run her tongue over a nipple before pulling it into her mouth and sucking, then scraping her teeth across it as she moves to the other side.

Hermione feels powerless to stop this, regardless of her concern.

Fleur is making her way down her body, kissing across her stomach and dipping her tongue into her belly button as she hits her knees.

Hermione grips the bed post next to her to ensure she can stay upright as Fleur kisses one inner thigh, then the other.

Fleur kisses her apex softly before looking up and capturing Hermione's gaze for a moment. Hermione loses her breath at what she finds in that look.

Because Fleur Delacuor is looking at Hermione like she's her salvation.

Hermione reaches out the hand that isn't holding the bedpost in a vice grip and places it gently on her cheek. Fleur leans into the touch for a moment before closing her eyes and turning to place a kiss against the palm of Hermione's hand.

Her grip on Hermione's hips becomes more insistent as she returns her focus to Hermione's center. The first run of her tongue thru slick folds has Hermione dropping her head back and tangling her fingers in Fleur's hair.

Fleur lips and tongue are unrelenting, driving Hermione higher and higher with a desperate insistence.

Hermione feels the heat build up in the soles of her feet and the tips of her ears before she finally crashes over the edge, crying out and gripping the bed post so hard her knuckles turn white. She desperately tries to catch her breath as Fleur presses her forehead against her stomach trying to calm her own breathing.

Hermione softly runs her fingers thru Fleur's hair before beckoning her back up. They kiss softly, the urgency of the moment now gone.

Hermione pulls back and takes Fleur's face in her hands, searching her eyes. She knows something is still there, but Fleur's gaze keeps flitting away and Hermione still can't quite place it.

As if sensing the track of Hermione's thoughts, Fleur swallows roughly and pulls back just a bit, her face becoming more passive than it's been since Hermione arrived in the room.

Hermione hates it.

“Can you stay?”

Fleur looks down, dropping her forehead to rest against Hermione's and shaking her head back and forth.

“I'm sorry, I can not.”

There's an awful feeling in the pit of Hermione's stomach, but she squeezes Fleur's shoulders in understanding.

“It's okay.”

When Fleur steps away there's a sadness in her eyes and Hermione wants to beg her to stay. She's twisting her fingers together, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach as Fleur goes to leave when the words come out.

“When will I see you again?” One of her hands rises to cover her mouth, because she really can't believe she just asked that.

She never asks that.

They've purposely avoided this conversation and anything like it for months, and if she could, Hermione would really like to pluck the words back from the air where they now hang between them.

Fleur gives a small curve of her lips, and Hermione is so sure it's meant to reassure her.

It doesn't.

“Soon, I promise.”

Hermione nods, and Fleur is gone.

It's several moments later before Hermione moves from her spot, the echo of the words 'I promise' bouncing around familiarly in her head.

 

*****

 

Her day starts the same as the previous five, with Hermione drinking tea and reading the daily prophet along with Luna, a comfortable silence between them.

At least, it should be comfortable, but Hermione can't help the way her eyes drift to observe Luna discreetly.

She doesn't know what she expects to see, but she finds it happening again and again regardless.

Harry extended the invite to Luna to stay at Grimmauld Place once the school year was over. Luna would be continuing her work at the Ministry and it was too far of a trip to make daily from Luna's home.

Yesterday she declared a perfectly lovely flat had become available to her the following week, free of any imaginary pests Luna continued to profess existed in her vision.

Hermione congratulated Luna, and she'd meant her well wishes, but there was a bigger part of her that was relieved Luna would be exiting so quickly.

She's still not quite sure of what she thinks she knows, but all the same, there's a constant uncomfortable tug at the back of her brain when it comes to Luna.

Later that evening Harry asks if they want to accompany him to the local pub to meet Ron. Hermione declines, surprising no one, but Luna declines also, stating she'd like an evening in to read.

It should have felt normal and innocent, but now Hermione finds herself retiring to her room much earlier in the evening than normal, telling herself the whole way that she does not think Luna is keeping an eye on her for some unknown reason.

The fire in her bedroom fireplace is cheerfully crackling away while Hermione reads in the armchair by her desk when a hissing noise begins emitting from the flames.

Hermione watches as the flames shoot higher in a wild disarray, before finally parting as a body comes stumbling thru, landing on all fours in the center of her bedroom.

She is only dully aware of the book on her lap thumping to the floor as she stands.

The entire world seems to narrow to a pinpoint when the first drops of blood hit the floor.

Her breaths and heartbeats are deafening in her own ears for what feels like an eternity before her full auditory senses whoosh her back to the moment.

“Fleur?” Her voice is hesitant, and she's clinging to an ounce of belief that the body bleeding out in front of her is someone else.

The small pool of blood collecting on the floor finally spurs her back onto action, dropping to her knees and rolling Fleur into her arms.

Fleur's eyes are wide, searching for, and holding, Hermione's gaze once she finds it. Her skin is pale, so much paler than normal, and there is an alarming amount of blood spreading on her shirt.

A high-pitched breathy sound emits from her lips, a grimace crossing her face as she swallows and tries to speak again.

“Hermione...sorry...I just...I had to see you.”

Hermione brushes hair back from Fleur's face, the trail of red left behind by Fleur's blood on her hands causing her to shake.

“You're going to be ok, Fleur, it's ok, I'm going to fix this, I'm going to-”

“Hermione.”

Fleur holds her gaze intensely for a moment before her eyelids being to flutter.

“Had to see you again...” she manages weakly before her eyes fully close and her body goes limp.

“Fleur?” Hermione shakes her once.

Twice.

“Fleur?!”

One long heartbeat later and Hermione is acting on instinct with no real awareness, the bedroom door flying open at her mental command (it's only later her use of wandless, non-verbal magic will really hit her).

“LUNA! LUNA I NEED YOU!” Hermione doesn't recognize her own voice as it echoes thru the house.

She can hear the footsteps running up the stairs, but it's taking too long, there's no time. There is just no time. The blood is everywhere, soaking Fleur's shirt and staining the floor.

“Oh dear-” Hermione rips her eyes away from Fleur's body, eyes wild and pleading with Luna, for what she's not sure.

Hermione is only vaguely aware of Luna swishing her wand and calling her medical bag into the room.

She puts up no resistance when Luna pulls Fleur out of her arms, murmuring a constant stream of words while moving her wand over Fleur's body over and over.

The sound of blood pounding in her ears is back, and for the first time Hermione becomes aware of the wetness streaking her cheeks.

“Please Luna-” she chokes out, “please save her.”

Luna never stops moving her wand as she looks over to Hermione. “I'll do all I can Hermione.”

Her voice is calm, assured, while her eyes hold a serious glint, and Hermione knows she means it.

She swipes at the tears on her cheeks and desperately hopes it will be enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final part will hopefully be up in a few days. As always, hit me up with comments/thoughts/opinions, if you're so inclined.


	3. Part Three

 

Hermione sips on her tea, feeling exhausted. She thinks her head might explode for all thoughts bouncing around in her brain.

She tries repeatedly to quiet them, but it proves a useless task.  
Fleur.

It’s all she can circle back to, over and over.

Fleur, dying in her arms.

Fleur, telling her it will be ok as the blood pours from her side.

Fleur, coming to her, for what she assumed would be the last minutes of her life.

Around and around it goes.

“Are you ok Hermione? You look as though Wrackspurts have overtaken your brain.” Luna lilts out, sipping on her tea.

The two of them are seated at the kitchen table, supposedly to have breakfast, but Hermione hasn’t managed to take a bite of her toast since sitting down. Luna’s untouched plate tells Hermione there is a lot going on in her mind as well.

“I’m fine Luna, just tired.” Hermione lies.

Luna makes a soft humming noise, setting her tea cup down. “So, I was curious,” she trails off for a moment, fixing Hermione with her inquisitive gaze, “you and Fleur?”

Hermione isn’t surprised by the question. She figures it was quite obvious the state of things between her and Fleur by the way she paced around the room while Luna worked her healers magic, unable to leave Fleur’s side until she was sure it was not the night Fleur would draw her last breath.

Not to mention the good chunk of the past forty-eight hours Hermione spent curled up beside Fleur, careful not to disturb her body, listening to her unsteady breaths. 

Luna even helped run interference with Harry, telling him Hermione was feeling sick, so he wouldn't come to her bedroom.

She’s more surprised it took Luna this long to bring it up. 

“Me and Fleur.” Hermione responds back softly, waiting a beat, then two. She decides it's more pressing to discuss a different topic.

“I know, Luna. I know about you.”

Luna regards her carefully, and Hermione knows she understands what she said.

“Do you now? How interesting.” 

“After everything we went through with Voldemort, how could you want to wage another war?” It's the question that's been pressing against the edges of Hermione's mind for awhile now. 

Luna chuckles, her eyes taking on a humorous glint. “Whoever said anything about a war, Hermione?”

That gives Hermione pause for a moment. She furrows her eyebrows in confusion. “Isn't that what's to come of all this? You kill people for your cause. Fleur has killed people.”

The last part is spoken so softly.

“I've never killed anyone. I find that aspect of things entirely distasteful, you should know. But I do understand a worthy cause sometimes requires some distasteful actions. And as for Fleur, well, personally, I don't judge. I didn't lose what she lost, and certainly not in the way she lost it. But that's really something you should be asking her about yourself.”

Hermione's chest aches as Luna confirms what she's suspected for so long.

Because Fleur never talks about her family in the present tense. Any of them. 

Something must show on Hermione's face, because a sad smile curves Luna's lips. “History books so rarely tell the whole story. The struggles of human muggle born against human magical born are well documented, but those that fall somewhat outside the spectrum? That's not something people are so interested in.”

Hermione has to admit she certainly knows that to be true.

Luna continues. “It’s always been interesting to me, people’s convictions on what is right and wrong. As if it can't all be completely reversed, depending on ones background or experiences. I'm actually surprised you don't have more interest in what we're fighting for, given your background.”

“There has to be some sort of scale on wrong and right Luna, otherwise the world would be in chaos.” Hermione reasons.

Luna gives a small smile before responding. “Perhaps. And that scale is easy to understand when it comes to the Voldemort’s of the world, but not every person, every cause, is so easily weighed on such a scale.”

“And how is your cause any different than Voldemort's when people are willing to kill for it?”

Hermione flinches when Luna's teacup rattles as she places it on the table with more force than necessary.

“Grow up Hermione. You know Dumbledore had plenty of blood on his hands during his life, and Harry's hands are far from clean. Neither are yours, for that matter. You think Fleur _likes_ the methods she's directed to use sometimes? It's not an excuse, she herself would tell you that, if you ever bothered to ask her. But all the same.”

Hermione drops her gaze to the table, a sickening feeling clawing at her stomach.

Luna waits until Hermione meets her gaze again. “You know, it seems to me there's a reason you don't know where Fleur goes or what she does when she's not with you.” Her face finally softens. “The head and the heart make interesting bed fellows. We both know which one you’ve spent most of your life listening to. But I wonder…”

She trails off, and Hermione feels a painful twist in her chest.

Luna picks up her tea cup once more, taking a long sip before speaking again. “Sometimes I find if I believe in something, but not in the methods, it's best to find a backdoor. But that all depends on what you want, doesn't it? But then one must be willing to admit what they want.”

Hermione is not really sure what to make of that last part. It's the most Luna has sounded like herself since they started this conversation though.

Luna rises out of her chair slowly, giving Hermione a small smile. “I'm not sure we have much more to say to each other at this point. I’ll take my leave now. Fleur should be back to full strength in a couple of days; do tell her I said to be more careful.”

She’s at the door to the kitchen when she pauses, turning back to Hermione. “Think about what I said.”

Luna’s gone then, leaving Hermione with even more thoughts running through her mind than she started with. 

What does she want? She doesn't know.

She laughs bitterly to herself. 

Yes she does.

She knows the answer. 

She also knows it's not possible.

*****

  
Hermione spends another twenty-four hours mostly by Fleur's side. 

Some moments she spends reading in the chair next to the bed, others curled up on her side facing Fleur, their hands gently entwined on the bed between them.

She's trying to stay awake until Fleur fully comes around, but it's a struggle. Her eyelids keep fluttering shut. 

Maybe just a moment of rest...

Hermione awakens with a start, forgetting for a moment where she is. When she sees Fleur carefully easing on a jacket it all comes back with sharp clarity.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The question comes out much harsher than she intends.

Fleur looks a little sheepish. “I didn’t want to wake you, you looked exhausted.”

Hermione scrubs at her face with her hands. “That’s because I am exhausted Fleur. But that doesn’t answer my question. What are you doing?”

Fleur gives her a sad smile, and it makes something ache in the pit of Hermione’s stomach. “There’s something I have to take care of Hermione. I am sorry I gave you such a fright.”

Fleur looks confused when Hermione starts laughing. Even Hermione is not sure why she’s doing it, only that it doesn’t feel humorous at all. The laughter tastes bitter in her mouth, and it dies out after a moment.

She’s swinging her legs off the bed and standing as the words start pouring out. “Gave me a fright? Is that what you would call it? You almost _died_ Fleur. Here, in my arms.”

Fleur looks like a deer caught in the headlights, unsure of what to do or what to say. It suits Hermione just fine, because she’s not done.

She takes steps towards Fleur, her voice getting more and more uneven as she continues.

“Do you have any idea how it felt? To watch the blood leaving your body? To not be able to stop it? To-” she stops, her fingers curling into her palms, arms rigid at her sides as she attempts to stop the tears forming in her eyes from falling.

“I’m sorry.” It’s all that Fleur says, anguish clear on her face.

Hermione swipes angrily at her cheeks. “You’re sorry? That’s not good enough Fleur. I thought I’d lost you. If it wasn’t for Luna, I would have.”

The tears are falling uncontrollably now, and Hermione hates it. She hates how out of control she feels. Hates that the idea of losing Fleur makes her want to crumple into a ball on her bed and not emerge from the comfort of the blankets for days. Maybe even forever.

“I can’t do this anymore Fleur.” The words are out of her mouth before she can even think on them. She just knows this hurts too much, and she needs it to stop. “Don't you understand? I can't. If you died-” her voice cracks and Hermione covers her mouth with her hands to hold back the sob lodged in her chest.

Fleur stays silent, a tear running down her cheek. There's so much pain evident in her eyes as she slowly approaches Hermione, drawing her softly into her arms.

Hermione lets her, unable to stop herself from curling into the comfort of Fleur’s arms.

“This hurts Fleur. This hurts, and I don't know how to make it stop.” Hermione admits, burying her face in Fleur's neck.

“Oh chérie, I am so sorry.” Fleur whispers in Hermione’s ear, pressing a soft kiss into her hair. “I never meant for this to happen. I’ll never hurt you again, I promise.”

They stand like that, silently for a minute. Finally, she squeezes Hermione tighter, placing one more kiss to her temple. Then she speaks a string of words softly in Hermione’s ear.

They're complicated spell words, ending in one particular word.

_Obliviate._

Hermione stiffens in her arms, and Fleur draws back slowly, knowing she'll be feeling very confused right now. She steps back completely, and it feels like a knife to her heart when Hermione looks at her like she’s never known her.

“What-?” The soft question leaves Hermione’s lips, her brow furrowed, and Fleur can’t take another second. She turns on the spot, disapperating.

It’s only when she reappears, halfway across the country, that she lets the strangled sob leave her lips.

*****

  
It’s been over a month since Hermione was cast in a cloud of confusion. 

She traces a line along the map sitting flat on her desk, going over her plans for what feels like the millionth time.

She’s made her decisions on the future, and she feels calmer than she has in so very long. Perhaps the most calm she’s felt since before stepping her first foot in Hogwarts.

“Hey there.”

Harry startles her out of her thoughts. He’s leaning against the door frame, watching her carefully. After a moment his eyes sweep over to where she has all her bags packed, stacked in a neat pile.

“Are you sure about…everything?” He asks, holding her gaze.

She gives him a small smile, hoping to look reassuring, before responding in an even voice “I don’t think I’ve ever been surer of anything.”

Harry smiles softly at that, giving her a small nod before straightening from the frame. “Well then, I guess we better get to it.”

Hermione looks down at the map again.

It’s time.

*****

  
Fleur is barely even listening to the diatribe going on in front of her. She already knows her fate. She’s known it for months now.

Ever since she let something crawl its way inside her and change her priorities, her fate has been sealed.

She really ought to say ‘someone’, rather than something, but she refuses to let her mind go there at this point. What’s done is done.

She only tunes back in when it sounds like the man speaking is just about done. Her eyes take in the number of people in the room. It seems like overkill given that it’s only her day of reckoning, and not someone more important.

Finally, the man stops talking, and Fleur brings her eyes back to meet his.

“Do you have any idea how disappointing this is Fleur? You directly disobeyed my order to kill that boy. I had such high hopes for you. I thought you would be by my side when we achieved our new world. A world I thought you very much believed in?”

Fleur just stares at him mutely. She doesn't bother to say that his order to kill a boy makes him a whole lot more like Voldemort than she ever wanted to believe. It no longer matters what she believes anyway.

The man sighs with disappointment. “Very well then. Fleur Delacour, thank you for your service to our cause.” The words sound kind, but the manner in which he raises his wand, and the spell he intends to cast, is not.

Fleur bows her head, having no desire to watch the jet of green light shoot towards her. 

She waits.

And then she waits some more.

She finally raises her head in confusion, only to find her would be executioner frozen like a stone, mouth open and ready to speak the words that would end her life, arm stretched out towards her.

The room explodes into chaos, but it’s over quickly. Everyone who had come to watch Fleur meet her untimely end either frozen or stuck struggling against invisible bonds.

The room is now swarming with aurors, some of them whom Fleur recognizes, and one in particular who is striding right towards her.

“Harry.” She greets him quietly, unsure of what is about to transpire, but quite certain he is not here to make small talk.

He does look quite dashing in his black peacoat, and Fleur is surprised to find she's genuinely happy for him that he seems to be making a new life for himself after the fall of Voldemort.

“Fleur.” He nods to her, keeping his wand raised and pointed at her, but his voice does not hold any maliciousness. Curious.

“Everyone else, clear out! Get them to the ministry for questioning. I’ll take her back myself.” He calls out surely, waiting until everyone has disapperated, a firm hold on their detainees.

Once he’s sure everyone is gone he turns back to Fleur, looking a bit apologetic. “Sorry about this Fleur, but it is protocol.” He waves his wand and Fleur's hands are bound by invisible shackles down in front of her body.

“I understand Harry. It is okay.” She says.

Because it is. She understands what is happening here.

And then, in the next second, she doesn’t understand anything at all, because Harry is turning away from her, calling out “I can give you five minutes,” to someone Fleur can’t see, and then Hermione is there, and she's the only thing Fleur can see.

She doesn’t even care that Hermione looks ready to spit fire, her stomach still flips at the sight of her. She was convinced she’d never see her again. 

She can’t stop the smile spreading across her face.

“Why are you smiling?” Hermione bites out tersely, stopping in front of Fleur, just out of reach. “There is nothing to smile about right now.”

“I don’t understand how you are here.” Fleur states.

“And that’s a reason to smile?”

“You know who I am?”

That gets Hermione’s eyes blazing, and she levels Fleur with a look that makes her think maybe that was the wrong thing to ask.

“Do I know who you are? Tell me Fleur, why on earth wouldn’t I know who you are, hm?” It’s a rhetorical question, and Hermione just keeps talking. “Would it be because you thought the best response to a difficult situation was to try and erase my memories of you?”

Now Hermione waits, and it’s clear she’s ready for Fleur to speak.

“It was the only way I could think of to make things right.”

“Well if that isn't the stupidest...By trying to erase my memories of you?!” Hermione is shouting, her hands going into the animated state that happens when she gets really worked up. “Why ever would you think that would make things right?!”

“You were hurting,” Fleur snaps, “and I couldn’t take it. I panicked. You do not understand.”

“ _I_ don’t understand?” Hermione pokes her own sternum sharply. “I was the one who had to watch you almost die. It sent me into a tailspin Fleur. And instead of giving me time to figure out my feelings, you go and try to erase my memories. I shouldn't even be here after you pulling something like that!”

Fleur bites her tongue to keep herself from mentioning Hermione wiped her parents’ entire memories clean without asking them. Fleur merely tried to erase herself, keeping everything else in tact. That should count for something.

Instead she huffs out “How did you get them back?”

She’s trying to make sense out of everything, and even more desperately trying to stamp down the tiny sliver of hope that is starting to form deep down. 

Hermione raises her eyebrows. “My memories? I never lost them Fleur.” She says it evenly, as if it should be obvious.

“What?” Fleur breaths out in shock.

Hermione is shaking her head. “I never lost them.”

“How is that possible?”

“I’ll ignore the obvious egotism in that statement, and instead point out that apparently you don’t understand things as well as you think you do. You can’t harm me Fleur.”

“Yes, I am all too well aware of that. What does that have to do with anything?” Fleur says.

Hermione takes another step forward, entering Fleur personal space, and Fleur’s heart starts to thud in her chest.

“Did it not occur to you that erasing the best memories I had from the past year would be the most harmful thing you could do to me?”  
Fleur blinks, woefully unprepared for the feelings that swirl up within her. “The best memories?” She asks it softly, afraid that maybe she didn’t hear right.

Hermione rolls her eyes before answering.

“Yes Fleur, the best memories.” Her tone is a bit exasperated, but then she meets Fleur’s eyes, and there’s a softening there.

Hermione shrugs, and when she starts speaking again her voice is quieter, but sure. “I’m in love with you Fleur. How could you not have known that?”

“I -” Fleur can’t find any words to say. She just keeps hearing the statement over and over in her head.

A throat clearing from the doorway breaks the moment, and Hermione turns away to face Harry, who is sporting a very apologetic look on his face.

“I’m really sorry Hermione, but if I wait any longer people might get suspicious.”

Hermione nods, turning back to take one last look at Fleur. “It has to be this way.” She whispers it, and Fleur understands, because what other way could this end?

Then Hermione is walking away, and Fleur wishes there was more time. Wishes she could find the right words.

After three steps Hermione stops and turns on her heel, marching back to Fleur and pulling her down into a firm kiss that is all too brief. Fleur breaths through her nose, her brow furrowing in anguish at the knowledge that this is the last kiss they will ever share.

And then Hermione releases her, walking quickly away without a look back.

She pauses in the doorway next to Harry for just a moment, as he lays a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll make sure to get her the best situation possible Hermione. Do you want me to keep you updated?”

Hermione shakes her head, giving him a small smile. “No Harry, I’d prefer not to spend too much time thinking about it.”

He nods solemnly in understanding. “All right then, you take care of yourself, okay? I expect an owl within a week.”

“You have my word. And please, tell Luna thank you.” She walks out of the room, pausing for one last moment. “Oh and Harry, try not to drink too much without me.”

And then she’s gone.

Harry walks over to where Fleur is waiting, giving her a reassuring smile before speaking.

“Fleur Delacour, as an auror in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, under the Ministry of Magic, it is my duty to inform you that you are under arrest.”

Fleur nods at him solemnly, understanding the need for proper protocol. None of what is about to come matters to her right now anyway. 

Hermione _loves_ her. Even as the ache starts in her chest at the realization she'll never see her again, she can't let go of the fact that she loves her.

Harry starts speaking again. “While the department greatly appreciates your tip off about tonight’s meeting, I’m sure you understand we must follow through with official procedures.” 

Harry tries not to laugh at the confused look on Fleur’s face.

“However, your cooperation, and your willingness to divulge information in the forthcoming interrogations will both be considered when it comes time for your sentencing.”

This time he can’t keep the smirk from his face as he takes a hold of her arm and they disappear from the room.

*****

_Dear Harry,_

_I’m sorry my first few letters have been so short. I needed some time to gather my thoughts before sending you a proper correspondence._

_I’d like to start this one by saying thank you. Thank you for being the very best friend a person could ever ask for. I was terrified Harry; terrified to tell you about everything with Fleur. I was afraid you would look at me different; that you wouldn’t understand how I could ever feel the things I was feeling._

_But you didn’t. You were calm, and collected, and when you asked me how the kissing was, well, I wanted to deck you, but I knew in that moment you were a better friend than I ever had a right to ask for. So thank you. Thank you for letting me speak freely about her. You’ll never know how much it helped sort things out in my own head._

_I know I asked you to not give any updates, but I just need to know if things are going okay. Just a simple yes or no will suffice, and we will not speak again on the topic._

_My new position with the Ministry is going really well. The current cottage I am staying in is a little musty and damp, but it rather reminds me of our days on the road searching for horcruxes._

_Communications with the village are going well, and I should be moving on to the next place in a week or so. I’m rather enjoying my nomadic lifestyle._

_I better get to sleep, I have an early meeting in the morning. I do hope you are taking care of yourself, and not running yourself too ragged._

_Hermione_

_P.S. Say hello to Ginny for me on your next date._

*****

  
Hermione really enjoys her position at the Ministry. She works as a liaison to outlying villages with mixed residents of people and magical creatures. There is no set time period for her to stay in each place, and the freedom that comes with that makes Hermione breathe easy.

It’s been almost three months since she packed all her bags and embarked on this (at least) two year job, and the constant movement, the regular interactions, help keep her mind focused and off other things.

She goes to bed each night with a quiet knowledge, a sureness that she never puts words to, but it’s there, whispering in the back of her mind. 

For now that’s all she needs.

She receives Harry’s reply to her latest letter over morning tea. She smiles as she reads over it slowly, missing her friend dearly, but knowing she is exactly where she needs to be.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I’m glad to hear things are going so well. I’m excited to hear how everything is going at your current assignment. The Ministry is lucky to have you._

_I wish I could say ‘you’re welcome’ in regards to my reaction to you opening up to me about Fleur, but the truth is, I don’t feel like I did anything all that special._

_You are my best friend Hermione (well, along with Ron, but we both know what a git he is sometimes, so you win a prize). For a long time after the war I could sense your sadness. It mirrored my own in some ways, but in others, it was very different. You bared it silently, but I could see it, everyday. All I hoped for at the time was for something to come along to help you find yourself again. I thought perhaps going back to Hogwarts would help, but I think maybe what you needed was Fleur._

_What type of friend would I be to judge what brings you happiness Hermione? I mean, besides becoming a death eater, I would judge that. But ultimately, it wasn’t hard at all to understand._

_All right, enough of this, I'm reinstating my stiff upper lip. Keep me posted, especially of where you end up next._

_And as to the update you requested, things are going well._

_Harry_

_P.S. How did you know Ginny and I were dating again?_

Hermione chuckles to herself at the postscript, because honestly, Harry can be so daft sometimes.

The letter gives her great comfort, and she tucks it away on the small writing desk she transports with her from place to place before heading out on her work day.

*****

  
Hermione works slowly, turning the soil over in her garden, getting her hands dirty while the sun sinks low on the horizon.

She likes it here, at this small cottage located in a sleepy little village. It’s been her favorite place to live as of yet, and she’s toying with the idea of keeping the cottage permanently, as her own quiet, lovely place to come back to when she wants.

It’s been over a year now. Hermione likes the life she’s built for herself, and she finds herself fulfilled in a way she never thought she would be in almost every aspect of her life.

Things are good, and so she waits.

It’s when she’s rinsing off the vegetables from the garden in her small little kitchen, windows and back door open to the warm summer breeze as the sunset begins to set, that it finally happens.

She senses it, senses her, before anything else. 

She’s felt a sureness all along, and now she’s certain as she reaches out slowly to turn off the water.

She turns around silently, and when she comes to a stop she has to fight to keep her breath.

Fleur leans casually in the door frame, in jeans and a white peasant blouse, hair in a messy ponytail (that somehow still looks perfect), with the sun setting behind her.  Hermione knows she’s never seen a more beautiful sight.

Hermione stays silent, trying to keep her erratic heartbeat in check, waiting. She figures after this long, what are a few minutes more?

Fleur arches a single eyebrow before speaking. It’s cute to Hermione how she has to clear her throat before getting the words out.

“I have travelled a long way, and I was wondering if there might be somewhere I could stay tonight?”

Such a simple sounding question if the words meant as little as how they were strung together. But they don’t, and Hermione knows it.

It feels as though there is a gravitational pull on her body towards Fleur, but she continues fighting it.

“Perhaps. I suppose it depends. Are you a reformed woman?”

One corner of Fleur’s mouth curls up softly. “Reformed?” She repeats, her eyes drifting away to look around the cottage, taking everything in. “Hard to say.”

Hermione holds her breath, waiting. It’s easy to do after all this time.

Finally Fleur begins speaking again. “But in love?” Her eyes make their way back to Hermione’s and hold steady there. “That is something I very much am.”

And Hermione is done waiting.

Her feet move surely, taking her before Fleur. She hooks a finger in a single belt loop on Fleur’s jeans, giving a gentle tug to pull her closer, tipping her head back to meet Fleur’s soft kiss.

She mumbles against Fleur lips, “Then I think there is definitely somewhere you can stay.”

It's not until later, when they are climbing onto the bed, their lips and hands and legs entangled to the point it's impossible to tell where they each begin and end, that Hermione feels whole again. 

When Fleur pulls back to catch her gaze there's an intensity there that causes a hitch in Hermione's breath. It's only when Fleur gently pushes inside of her that she releases it. 

“I love you.” Fleur murmurs, and Hermione is captivated by the fire that so clearly burns in her blue eyes.

“I love you too.” 

The smile that curls Fleur's lips spreads a warmth through Hermione, starting in her chest and spreading outward till it reaches everywhere.

Before she knows it, she's coming undone. And undone and undone and undone.

  
*****

  
The candle on her writing desk is almost at its end. Hermione dips her writing quill into the inkpot and takes in Fleur's sleeping form. She can't help the soft smile forming on her face. 

Her letter to Harry isn't quite finished, but a glance out the window lets her know the time to wake Fleur has come.

It's with a soft kiss to her temple and a gentle hand on her shoulder that Hermione brings Fleur awake. The hazy look of adoration in Fleur's still half asleep gaze almost convinces Hermione to crawl back into bed. 

Almost.

She gathers an armful of blankets while Fleur puts on her clothes, albeit grumpily, and she leads the way out to the garden area. 

Fleur catches on when they arrive at the lounge chair, arranging herself before opening her arms for Hermione to snuggle back against her. 

The pile of blankets piled on top of them, and their body heat, wards off the early morning chill in the air. 

Hermione sighs contently as the sun first breaks over the horizon, and a shiver overtakes her body at the feel of Fleur's lips pressed softly behind her ear.

“I hope I get a million sunrises with you Hermione.” Fleur whispers, squeezing her gently.

Hermione takes a slow breath as her eyes close at the sentiment. She knows they have things to talk about, things to work through, she's not naïve. But nothing has ever felt as right as this moment. 

“You do?” Hermione asks, idly stroking at Fleur's fingers wrapped in hers underneath the blankets.

“I do.” Fleur drops her chin onto Hermione's shoulder. “And I will do everything in my power to make sure it happens.”

Hermione buries her smile in the blankets for a moment before turning her head to capture Fleur's lips in a short kiss.

“Promise?” 

It's whispered, a prayer wrapped up in a question. And when the answer comes Hermione has never been so sure of anything in her life.

“Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, finally, this story that was two years in the making comes to an end. 
> 
> I know I didn't delve too much into what the actual 'cause' is, or Fleur's background, but this was always more of a story about Fleur and Hermione coming together, despite everything, to be exactly what each other needs.
> 
> If you read all the way to the end, hope you enjoyed (or at least didn't hate it). 
> 
> Come yell at me about your love of the pairing on tumblr if you want, I will yell back.
> 
> Long live Fleurmione.

**Author's Note:**

> Will Fleur and Hermione ever have a clear conversation? 
> 
> Will there be any actual plot line to this story? 
> 
> Who knows?!
> 
> On a more serious note: I am of the mind that difficult circumstances, especially prolonged ones, can change us. I am also of the mind that along with those changes, we sometimes do things that people might consider unexpected.
> 
> One could argue that Hermione sleeping with Fleur seems out of character, but for me, post-war Hermione would struggle to even know what's in character for herself, especially after being tortured.
> 
> Anyway, as always, feel free to let me know your thoughts here or on Tumblr (same name).


End file.
